



(p 



/ 

MEMOIRS 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 

WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 

■-■ /' ^ 

CONTAINING ^^ ^, 

AN ACCOUNT OF HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS, 

INTERSPERSED WITH 

ANECDOTES AND CHARACTERS 

OF SEVERAL OF 

THE MOST DISTINGUISHED PERSONS OF HIS TIME, 

WITH WHOM ' . ■ 

HE HAS HAD INTERCOURSE AND CONNEXION. 



PUBLISHED BT 



DAVID WEST, 59, AND JOHN WEST, 75, CORNHILL, AND 
0. C. GREENLEAF, 3, COURT STREET, BOSTON. 



1806. 
David Carlisle, Printer, No. 5, Cctart Street. 






la Slzo}i«a«« 
?2 '08 



< 



MEMOIRS 



OF 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 



At the dose of the year 1 804, whilst I am stilf 
in possession of my faculties, though full of years, I sit down to 
give a history of my life and writings. I do not undertake the 
task lightly and without deliberation, for I have weighed the dif- 
ficulties, and am prepared to meet them. I have lived so long- 
in this world, mixed so generally with mankind, and vmtten so 
voluminously and so variously, that I trust my motives cannot 
be greatly misunderstood, if, with strict attention to truth, and 
in simplicity of style, I pursue my narrative, saying nothing more 
of the immediate object of these memoirs, than in honour and in 
conscience I am wairanted to say. 

I shall use so little embellishment in this narrative, that if the 
reader is naturally candid he will not be disgusted ; if he is easi- 
ly amused he will not be disappointed. ^ 

As I have been, through life, a negligent recorder of dates and 
events relating to myself, it is very possible I may fall into erroura. 
of memory as to the order and arrangement of certain facts and 
occuiTences, but whilst I adhere to veracity in the relation of 
tliem, the trespass, I presume, will be readily overlooked. 

Of many persons, with whom I have had intercourse and con- 
nexion, I shall speak freely and impartially. I know myself in- 
capable of wantonly aspersing the characters of the living or the 
dead; but, though I will not indulge myself in conjectures, I 
will not turn aside from facts, and neither from afiectation of 
candour, nor dread of recrimination, wave the privilege, which 
I claim for myself in every page of this history, of speaking the 
truth from my heart : I may not always say all that I could, bilt 
I v/ill never knowingly say of any man what I should not. 



4 MEMOIRS OF 

As I am descended from ancestors illustrious for their piety, 
benevolenc« and erudition, I will not say I am not vain of that 
distinction ; but I will confess it would be a vanity, serving on- 
ty to expose my degeneracy, were it accompanit- d with the in- 
spiration of no worthier passion. 

Doctor Richard Cumberland, who was consecrated bishop of 
Peterborough in the year 1691, was my great grandfather. He 
was author of that excellent work entitled De Legibus Nuttii^', in 
which he effectually refutes the impious tenets of Hobbes, and 
whilst he was unambitiously fulfilling the simple functions of 
a parish priest in the town of Stamford, the revolution fliving 
♦aken place, search was made after the ablest Protestant divines 
to fill up vacancies in the hierarchy, and rally round their late 
endangered church. — Without interest, and without a wish to 
emerge from his obscurity and retirement, this excellent man, 
the vindicator of the insulted laws of nature, received the first 
intelligence of his promotion from a paragraph in the public pa- 
pers, and, being then sixty years old, was with difficulty persuad- 
ed to accept the offer, when it came to him fi-om authority. 
^The persuasion of his fiiends, particularly sir Orlando Bridge- 
man, at length overcame his repugnance, and to that see, though 
very' moderately endowed, he for ever after devoted himself, and 
resisted eveiy ofler of translation, though repeatedly made and 
earnestly recommended. To such of his friends as pressed an 
exchange upon him he was accustomed to reply, that Peterbor- 
ough was his first espoused, and should be his only one ; and, in 
fact, according to his principles, no church revenue could enrich 
him ; for I have heard my father say, that at the end of every year, 
whatever ovei-plus he found upon a minute inspection of his ac- 
counts, was by him distributed to the poor, reserving only one 
small deposit of twenty five pounds in cash, found at his death 
in his bureau, with directions to employ it for the discharge of 
his funeral expenses ; a sum, in his modest calculation, fully suf- 
ficient to commit his body to the earth. 

Such was the humility of this truly Christian prelate, and such 
his disinterested sentiments as to the appropriation of his episco- 
pal revenue. The wealthiest see could not have tempted him to 
accumulate, the poorest sufficed for his expenses, and of those 
he had to spare for the poor. Yet he was hospitable in his plain 
and primitive style of living, and had a table ever open to his 
clergy and his friends : he had a sweetness and placidity of tem- 
per, that nothing ever ruffled or disturbed. I know it cannot be 
the lot of human creature to attain perfection, yet so wonderful- 
ly near did this good man approach to consummate rectitude, 
that unless benevolence may be carried to excess, no other fail- 
ing was ever known to have been discovered in his character. 
His chaplain, Archdeacon Payne, who married one of his daugh- 
ters, and whom I am old enough to remember, makes this obser-* 
vation ixx the short sketch of the bishop's life, which he has pre- 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 5 

fixed to his edition of The Sanchcynatho. This and his other works 
are in the hands of the learned, and cannot need any effort on my 
part to elucidate what they so clearly display, the vast erudition 
and patient investigation of their author. 

The death of this venerable prelate was, like his life, serene 
and undisturbed ; at the extended age of eighty-six yeai's and 
some months, as he was sitting in his library, he expired without 
a struggle, for he was found in the attitude of one asleep, with 
his cap fallen over his eyes, and a book in his hand, in which he 
had been reading. Thus, without the ordinary visitations of 
pain or sickness, it pleased God to terminate the existence of 
this exemplary mao. 

He possessed his faculties to the last, verifying the only claim 
he was ever heard to make as to mental endowments ; for whilst 
he acknowledged himself to be gifted by nature with good nveav' 
itig parts, he made no pretensions to quick and brilliant talents, 
and in that respect he seems to have estimated himself very tru- 
ly, as we rarely find such meek and modest qualities as he pos- 
sessed, in men of warmer imaginations, and a brighter glow of 
genius with less solidity of understanding, and, of course, more 
liable to the influences of their passions. 

Bishop Cumberland was the son of a respectable citizen of 
London, and educated at St. Paul's school, from whence he was 
admitted of Magdalen College in Cambridge, where he pursued 
his studies, and was elected fellow of that society, to which I had 
the honour to present a copy of that portrait from which the print 
hereunto annexed was taken. 

In the oriental languages, in mathematics, and even in anatomy, 
he was deeply learned ; in short, his mind was fitted for elaborate 
and profound researches, as his works more fully testify. It is 
to be lamented that his famous work, De Legibus Natiira;, was al- 
lowed to come before the public with so many and such glaring 
errours of the press, which his absence and considerable distance 
from London disabled him from coirecting. I had a copy inter- 
leaved and coiTected and amended throughout by Doctor Bent- 
ley, who, being on a visit to my father at his parsonage-house in 
Northamptonshire, undertook that kind office, and completed it 
most effectually. — This hook I gave, when last at Cambridge, to 
the library of Trinity College ; and if, by those means, it shall 
find a passport to the University press, I shall have cause to con- 
gratulate myself for having so happily bestowed it. 

Of Doctor Richard Bentley, my maternal grandfiither, I shall 
next take leave to speak. Of him I have perfect recollection. 
His person, his dignity, his language and his love fixed my ear- 
ly attention, and stamped both his image and his words upon my 
mem.ory. His literary works are known to all, his private char- 
acter is still misunderstood by many ; to that 1 shall confine my« 
self, and, putting aside the enthusiasm of a descendant, I can as- 
sert, with the veracity of a biographer, that he was neither cyiuft« 
A ii 



6 MEMOIRS O^ 

al, as some have represented him, nor overbearing and fastidi^^ 
ous in the degree, as he has been described by many. Sviaft, 
when he foisted him into his vulgar Battle of the Bocks, neither 
lowers Bentley's fame nor elevates his own ; and the petulant po- 
et, who thought he had hit his manner, when he made him 
haughtily call to Walker for his hat, gave a copy as little like the 
character of Bentley, as his translation is like the original of Ho- 
mer. That Dr. Walker, vict-master of Trinity College, was the 
friend of my grandfather, and a frequent guest at his table, is 
true ; but it was not in Doctor Bentley's nature to treat him 
with contempt, nor did his harmless character inspire it. As 
for the ^a/, I must acknowledgeit was of formidable dimensions, 
yet I was accustomed to treat it with great familiarity, and if it 
had ever been further from the hand of its ov/ner than the peg 
upon the back of his great arm-chair, I might have been dispatch- 
ed to fetch it, for he was disabled by the palsy in his latter days ; 
but the hat never strayed from its place, and Pope found an of- 
fice for Walker, that I can v/ell believe he was never commission- 
ed to in his life. 

I had a sister somewhat elder than myself. Had there been 
any of that sternness in my grandfather, wh.ich is so falsely im- 
puted to him, it may well be supposed we should have been aw- 
ed into silence in his presence, to v/hich v\'e v/ere admitted every 
day. Nothing can be further from the truth ; he v\-as the ur.- 
wearied patron and promoter of ail our childish sports and sal- 
lies ; at all times ready to detach himself from any topic of con- 
versation to take an interest and bear his part in our amusements. 
The eager curiosity natural to our age, and the questions it gave 
birth to, so tcazing to many parents, he, on the contrary, at- 
tended to and encouraged, as the claim.s of infant reason never 
to be evaded or abused ; strongly recommerfding, that to all 
«uch inquiries answer should be given according to the strictest 
truth, and information dealt to us in the clearest terms, as a sac- 
red duty never to be departed from. I have broken in upon him 
many a time in his hours of study, when he v\'ould put his book 
aside, ring his hand-bell for his servant, and be led to his 
shelves to take down a picture-book for my amusement. I do 
not say that his good nature always gained its object, as the 
pictures which his books generally supplied, me v.'itb were ana- 
tomical drawings of dissected bodic;, very little calculated to 
communicate delight 5 but he had nothing better to produce ; 
and surely such an eflbrt on his part, however unsuccessful, was 
no feature of a cynic : a cynic should be made of sterner stuff. I 
have had from him, at times, whilst standing at his elbow, a 
complete and entertaining narrative of his school-boy d^, with 
tke characters of his ditlerent masters very humoroudy display- 
ed, and the punishments described, which they at times would 
wrongfully inflict upon him for seeming to be idle and regardless 
ofhistasl^ •' When the dunces," he would say, "could not 



kiCHARD CUMBERLAND. ? 

" -discover that I was pondering it in my mind, and fixing it 
" more firmly in my memory, than if I had been bawling it out 
" amongst the rest of my school-fellows." 

Once, and only once, I recollect his giving me a gentle rebuke 
for making a most outrageous noise in the room over his library 
and disturbing him in his studies ; I had no apprehension of an- 
ger from him, and confidently answered that I could not help it, 
as I had been at battledore and shuttlecock with Master Gooch, 
the Bishop of Ely's son. " And I have been at this spoil with 
" his father," he replied ; " but thine has been the more anuis- 
" ing game, so there is no harm done." 

These are puerile anecdotes, but my history itself is only in 
its nonage ; and even these will serve in some degree to establish 
what I affirmed, and present his character in those mild and un- 
iinposing lights, whicli may prevail with those who know him 
only as a critic and controversialist — 

As flashing EentJey <vjitb his desperate hook:, 

to reform and soften their opinions of him. 

He recommended it as a very essential duty in parents to be- 
particularly attentive to the first dawnings of reason in their chil- 
dren ;• and his own practice was the best iliustration of his doc- 
trine ; for he w^as the most patient hearer and most favourable in- 
teipreter of first attempts ac argument and meaning that I ever 
knew. When. I \\-as rallied by my motlier, for roundly asserting 
that I neuer slept-, I remember full well his calling on me to ac- 
count for it 5 and when I explained it by saying I never knew 
myself to be asleep, and therefore supposed I never slept at all, 
he gave, me credit for my defence, and said to my mother, 
" Leave your boy in the possession of his opinion ; he has as 
" clear a conception of sleep, and at least as comfortable an one, 
" as the philosophers who puzzle their brains about it, and do 
" not rest so well." 

Though Bishop Lowth, in the flippancy of controversy called 
the author of The Pbiloleutherus Lipsiensis and detector of Pha- 
laris aid Caprlmulg'js aut fossor, his genius has produced those 
living witnesses, that must forever put that charge to shame 
and silence. Against such idle inconsiderate words, now dead 
as the language they were conveyed in, the appeal is near at 
hand ; it lies no further off than to his works, and they are upon 
every reading-man's shelves ^ but those, who would have look- 
ed into his heart, should have stepped into his house, and seen 
him in his private and domestic hours ; therefore it is that I 
adduce these little anecdote's and trifling incidents, v/hich de^ 
scribe the man, but leave the author to defend himself. 

His ordinary style of conversation was naturally lofty, and Ijiis 
fi*quent use of thou and thee with his familiars can^ied with it a 
kind of dictatorial tone, that savoured more of the closet than 
ibe court-; thi« h readily admitted, and this ou first approaches 



* MEMOIRS OF 

might mislead a stranger ; but the native candour and inherent 
tenderness of his heart could not long be veiled from observa- 
tion, for his feelings and affections were at once too impulsive 
to be long repressed, and he too careless of concealment to at- 
tempt at qualifying them. Such was bis sensibility towards hu- 
man sufferings, that it became a duty with his family to divert the 
conversation trom all topics of that sort ; and if he touched upon 
them himself he was betrayed into agitations, which if the reader 
ascribes to paralytic weakness, he will very greatly mistake a man, 
who to the last hour of his life possessed his faculties firm and 
in their fullest vigour ; I therefore bar all such misinterpreta- 
tions as may attempt to set the mark of infirmity upon those 
emotions, which had no other source and origin but in the nat- 
ural and pure benevolence of his heart. 

He was communicative to all without distinction, that sought 
information, or resorted to him for assistance ; fond of his col- 
lege almost to enthusiam, and ever zealous for the honour of 
the purple gown of Trinity. When he held examinations for 
fellowships, and the modest candidate exhibited marks of agita- 
tion and alarm, he never failed to interpret candidly of such 
symptoms ; and on those occasions he was never known to 
press the hesitating and embarrassed examinant, but oftentimes 
on the contrary would take all the pains of expounding on him- 
self, and credit the exonerated candidate for answers and inter- 
pretations of his own suggesting. If this was not rigid justice, 
it was, at least in my conception of it, something better and 
more amiable ; and how liable he was to deviate from the strict 
line of justice, by his partiality to the side of mercy, appears 
from the anecdote of the thief, who robbed him of his plate, and 
was seized and brought before him with the very articles upon 
him : the natural process in this man's case pointed out the 
road to prison ; my grandfather's process was more summary, 
but not quite so legal. While commissary Greaves, who was 
then present, and of counsel for the college Ex officio, was ex- 
patiating on the crime, and prescribing the measures obviously 
to be taken with the offender, Doctor Bentley interposed, say- 
ing, " Why tell the man he is a thief ? he knows that well 
'* enough, without thy information, Greaves. — Harkye, fellow, 
*' thou see'st the trade which thou hast taken up, is an unprofit- 
" able trade, therefore, get thee gone, lay aside an occupation 
" by which thou can'st gain nothing but a halter, and follow 
" that by which thou may'st earn an honest livelihood." Hav- 
ing said this, he ordered him to be set at liberty against the re- 
monstrances of the bye-standers, and insisting upon it that the 
fellow was duly penitent for his offence, bade him go his way, 
and never steal again. 

I leave it with those, who consider mercy as one of man's best 
attributes, to suggest a plea for the infonnaliiy of this proceeding, 
and to such I will coramunicate one other anecdote, which I do not 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 9 

deliver upon my own knowledge, though from unexceptionable 
authority, and this is, that when Collins had fallen into decay of cir. 
cumstances, Doctor Bentley, suspecting he had written him out of 
credit by his Pbiloleutheriis Lipsic>:sis, secretly contrived to admin- 
ister to the necessitiae of his baffled opponent, in a manner that did 
no less credit to his delicacy than to his liberTility. 

A morose and over-bearing man will fmd himself a solitary be- 
ing in creation ; Doctor Bentley on the contrary had m.any inti» 
mates ; judicious in forming his fiuendships, he was faithful in ad- 
hering to them. With Sir Isaac Newton, Doctor Mead, Doctor 
Wallis of Stamford, Baron Spanheim, the lamented Roger Cotes, 
and several other distinguished and illustrious contemporaries, he 
lived on terms of uninterrupted harmony, and I have good author- 
ity for saying, that it is to his interest and importunity with Sir I- 
saac Newton, that the inestimable publication of the Priacipia was 
ever resolved upon by that truly great and luminous philosopher. 
Newton's portrait by Sir James Thornhill, and those of Baron 
Spanheim and my grandfather by the same hand, now hanging in 
the Master's lodge of Trinity, were the bequest of Doctor Bentley. 
I was possessed of lettei-s in Sir Isaac's own hand to my grandfa- 
ther, which together with the corrected volume of bishop Cum- 
berland's La-a)s of Nature,! lately gave to the library of that flour- 
ishing and illustrious college. 

The irreparable loss of Roger Cotes in early Iife,of whom New- 
ton had pronounced — Norjj the tuorld luill kno'zv something. Doc- 
tor Bentley never mentioned but with the deepest regret ; he had 
formed the highest expectations of new lights and discoveries in 
philosophy from the penetrating force of his extraordinary genius, 
and on the tablet devoted to his memory, in the chapel of Trin- 
ity College, Doctor Bentley has recorded his sorrows and those 
of the whole learned world in the following beautiful and pa- 
thetic epitaph : 

H. S. E. 

" Rogerus Roberti filius Cotes, 

" Hujus Collegii S. Trinitatis Socius, 

*' Et Astronomias et experimentalis 

" Pliilosophiee Professor Plumianus ; 

♦' Qui immatura Morte prcereptus, 

" Pauca quidem ingenii Sui 

" Pignora reliquit, 

" Sed egregia, sed admiranda, 

"Ex intimis Matheseos penetralibus, 

♦' Felici Solertia turn primum eruta ; 

♦* Post magnum ilium Newtonum 

"Societatis hujas spes altera 

" Et decus gerriellum ; 

" Cui ad summam Doctrina laudem, 

" Ojunet, moruin vij-tuturr.que dote:^ 



iO MEMOIRS OF 

<' In cumulum accesserunt ; 

"^Jio magis spectabiles amabilesque, 

" Quod in formoso coi-pore 

" Gratiores venirent, 

*< Natus Burbagii 

" In agro Leicestriensi. 

"Jul. X. MDCLXXXH. 

** Obiit. Jun. v. mdccxvi." 

His domestic habits, when I knew him, were still those of un- 
abated study : he slept in the room adjoining to his library, and 
was never with his family till the hour of dinner ; at these times 
he seemed to have detached himself most completely ft'om his 
«tudies ; never appearing thoughtful and abstracted, but social, 
gay, and possessing perfect serenity of mind and equability 
of temper. He never dictated topics of conversation to the 
company he was with, but took them up as they cam.e in his 
way, and was a patient listener toother people's discourse, how- 
ever trivial or uninteresting it might be. When The Spectators 
were in publication I have heard my mother say he took great 
delight in hearing them read to him, and was so particularly a- 
mused by the character cf Sir Roger de Coverley, that he took 
his literary decease most seriously to heart. She also told me, 
that, when in conversation with him on the subject of his works, 
she found occasion to lament that he had bestowed so great a 
portion of his time and talents upon criticism instead of employ- 
ing them upon original composition, he acknowledged the jus- 
tice of her regret with extreme sensibility, and remained for a con- 
siderable time thoughtful and seemingly embairassed by the na- 
ture gf her remark \ at last recollecting himself he said — " Child, 
*< I am sensible I have not always turned my talents to the proper 
*' use for which I should presume they were given to me : yet I 
** have done something for the honour of my God and the edifi- 
" cation of my fellow creatures ; but the wit and genius of those 
'* old heathens beguiled me, and as I despaired of raising myself 
" up to their standard upon fair ground, I thought the only 
♦* chance I had of looking over their heads was to get upon their 
« shoulders." 

Of his pecuniary affairs he took no account ; he had no use 
for money, and dismissed it entirely from his thoughts : his es- 
tablishment in the mean tim^e was respectable, and his table afflu- 
ently and hospitably served. All these matters were conducted 
and arranged in the best manner possible by one of the best 
women living ; for such, by the testimony of all who knew her, 
was Mrs. Bentley, daughter of Sir John Bernard, of Brampton, 
in Huntingdonshire, a family of great opulence and respectability, 
allied to the Cromwells and Saint Johns, and by intermarriages 
connected with other great and noble houses. I have perfect 
•recollectjoii of the person of my grandrapther, and a f«U \rot> 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. U 

pression of her manners and habits, which, though in some de- 
gree tinctured with hereditary reserve and the primitive cast of 
character, were entirely free from the hypocritical cant and af- 
fected sanctity of the Oliverians. Her whole life was modelled 
on the purest principles of piety, benevolence and Christian char- 
ity ; and in her dying moments, my mother being present and 
voucher of the fact, she breathed out her soul in a kind of beat- 
ific vision, exclaiming in rapture as she expired — It is all bright., 
it is all glorious ! 

I was fi-equently called upon by her to repeat certain scriptural 
texts and passages, which she had taught me, and for which I 
seldom failed to be r'^warded, but by which I was also frequent- 
ly most completely puzzled and bewildered ; so that I much 
doubt if the good ellects of this practice upon immature and in- 
fantine understandings, will be found to keep pace with the good 
intentions of those who adopt it. One of these holy apothegms, 
viz : — The eyes of the Lord are in every place, beholding ihe evil 
and the good, I remember to have cost me many a struggle to in- 
terpret, and the result of my construction was directly opposite 
to the spirit and meaning of the text. I v.-as also occasionally 
summoned to attend upon the readings of long sermons and 
homilies of Baxter, as I believe, and others of his period ; neither 
by these was I edified, but, on the contrary, so efi'ectually weari- 
ed, that by noises and inteiTuptions I seldom failed to render 
myself obnoxious, and obtain my dismission before the reading 
was over. 

The death of this exemplary lady preceded that of my grand- 
father by a few years only, and by her he had one son, Richard, 
and two daughters, Elizabeth and Joanna. Richard was a man 
of various and considerable accomplishments ; he had a fine 
genius, great wit and a brilliant imagination ; he had also the 
manners and address of a perfect gentleman, but there was a 
certain eccentricity and want of v/orldly prudence in my uncle's 
character, that involved him in distresses, and reduced him to 
situations uncongenial with his feelings, and unpropitious to the 
cultivation and encouragement of his talents. His connexion 
with Mr. Horace Walpole, the late Lord Orford, had too much 
of the bitter of dependence in it to be gratifying to the taste of a 
man of his spirit and sensibility ; the one could not be abject, 
and the other, I suspect, was not by nature very liberal and 
large-minded. They canied on, for a long time, a sickly kind 
*of friendship, which had its hot fits and its cold ; was suspend- 
ed and renewed, but I believe never totally broken and avowed- 
ly laid aside. Walpole had by nature a propensity, and by con-, 
stitution a plea, for being captious and querulential, for he was a 
martyr to the gout. He wrote prose and published it ; he com- 
posed verses and circulated them, and was an author, who seem- 
ed to play at hidc-and-scek with the public. There was a mysteri- 
ous a^- of cousequence in his private establishment of a domestic 



12 MEMOIRS OiF 

printing press, that seemed to augur great things, but performed 
little. Walpole was already an author with no great claims to 
excellence, Bentley had those powers in embryo, that would 
have enabled him to excel, but submiited to be the projector of 
Gothic embellishments for Strawberry Hill, and humble designer 
of drawings to ornament a tliin folio of a meagre collection of 
odes by Gray, the most costive of poets, edited at the Walpolian 
press. In one of these designs Bentley has personified himself as 
a monkey, sitting under a withered tree with his pallet in his 
hand, while Gray reposes under the shade of a flourishing laurel 
in all the dignity of learned ease. Such a design with figures so 
contrasted might flatter Gray and gratify the trivial taste of 
Walpole ; but in my poor opinion it is a satire in copper-plate, 
and my uncle has most completely libelled both his poet and his 
patron without intending so to do. 

Let this suffice at present for the son of Doctor Bentley ; in 
the course of these memoirs I shall take occasion to recall the 
attention of my readers to what I have further to relate of him. 

Elizabeth ^entley, eldest daughter of her father, first married 
Humphry Ridge, Esquire, and after his decease the Reverend 
Doctor Favell, fellow of Trinity College, and after his mamage 
with my aunt, Rector of Witton near Huntingdon, in the gift of 
Sir John Bernard of Brampton. She was an honourable and ex- 
cellent lady ; I had cause to love her, and lament her death. 
She inherited the virtues and benignity of her mother, with hab- 
its more adapted to the fashions of the world. 

Joanna, the younger of Doctor Bentley's daughters, and the 
Phoebe of Byron's pastoral, was my mother. I will not violate 
the allegiance I have vowed to truth in giving any other charac- 
ter of her, than what in conscience I regard as just and faithful. 
She had a vivacity of fancy and a strength of intellect, in which 
few were her superiors : she read much, remembered well, and 
discerned acutely : I never knew the person, who could better 
embellish any subject she was upon, or render common inci- 
dents more entertaining by the happy art of relating them ; her 
invention was so fertile, her ideas so original, and the points of 
humour so ingeniously and unexpectedly taken up in the prog- 
ress of her naiTative, that she never failed to accomplish all the 
purposes, which the gaiety of her imagination could lay itself 
out for : she had a quick intuition into characters, and a faculty 
of marking out the ridiculous, when it came within her view, 
which of force I must confess she made rather too frequent use 
of. Her social powers were brilliant, but not uniform, for on 
some occasions she would persist in a determined taciturnity to 
the regret of the company present, and at other times would 
lead otT in her best manner, when perhaps none were present, 
who could taste the spirit and amenity of her humour. There 
hardly passed a day, in which she failed to devote a portion of 
lier time to the reading of the Bible ; and her comments and ex- 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. is 

positions might have merited the attention of the wise and learn- 
ed. Though strictly pious, there was no gloom in her religion, 
but on the contrary such was the happy faculty, which she pos- 
sessed, of making every doctrine pleasant, every duty sweet, that 
what some instructors would have represented as a burden and 
a yoke, she contrived to recommend as a recreation and delight. 
All that son can owe to parent, or disciple to his teacher, I owe 
to her. 

My paternal grandfather Richard, only son of Bishop Cumber- 
land, was rector of Peakirk in the diocese of Peterborough, and 
Archdeacon of Northampton. He had two sons and one daugh- 
ter, who was married to Waring Ashby, Esquire, of Quenby 
Hall in the county of Leicester, and died in child-birth of her on- 
ly son George Ashby, Esquire, late of Haselbeach in Northamp- 
tonshire. Richard, the eldest son of Archdeacon Cumberland, 
died unmarried at the age of twenty-nine, and the younger, Den- 
ison, so named from his mother, was my father. He was edu- 
cated at Westminster school, and from that admitted fellow- 
commoner of Trinity College, in Cambridge. He married at the 
age of twenty-two, and though in possession of an independent 
fortune was readily prevailed upon by his father-in-law Doctor 
Bentley to take the rectory of Stanwick in the county of North- 
ampton, given to him by Lord Chancellor King, as soon as he 
was of age to hold it. From this period he fixed his constant res- 
idence in that retired and tranquil spot, and sedulously devoted 
himself to the duties of his function. When I contemplate the 
character of this amiable man, I declare to truth I never yet 
knew one so happily endowed with those engaging qualities, 
which are formed to attract and fix the love and esteem of man- 
kind. It seemed as if the whole spirit of his grandfather's be- 
nevolence had been transfused into his heart, and that he bore as 
perfect a resemblance of him in goodness, as he did in pei'son : in 
moral purity he was truly a Christian, in generosity and honour 
he was perfectly a gentleman. 

On the nineteenth day of February 1732, I was born in the 
Master's Lodge of Trinity College, inter silvas Academi, under 
the roof of my grand-father Bentley, in what is called the Judge's 
Chamber. Having therefore prefaced my history with these few 
faint sketches of the great and good men, whom I have the hon- 
our to number amongst my ancestors, I must solicit the con- 
descension of my readers to a much humbler topic, and proceed 
to speak professedly of myself. 

Here then for awhile I pause for self-examination, and to weigh 
the task I am about to undertake. I look into my heart ; I 
search my understanding ; I review my life, my labours, the tal- 
ents I have been endowed with, and the uses I have put them to, 
and it shall be my serious study not to be found guilty of any 
partial estimates, any false appreciations of that self, either as 
author or man, which of necessity must be made to fill so large 
B 



14 MEMOIRS OF 

a portion of the following pages. When from the date, at which 
my history now pauses, I look forward through a pei-iod of more 
than seventy and two years, I discover nothing w ithin my hori- 
zon, of which to be vain-glorious ; no sudden heights to turn 
me giddy, no dazzling gleams of fortune's sunshine to bewilder 
me ; nothing but one long laborious track, not often strewed 
with roses, and thorny, cold and barren towards the conclusion 
of it, where weariness wants repose, and age has need of com- 
fort. I see myself unfortunately cast upon a lot in life neither 
congenial with my character, nor friendly to my peace ; com- 
bating with dependence, disappointment and disgusts of various 
soils, transplanted from a college, within whose walls I had de- 
voted myself to studies, which I pursued with ardent passion 
and a rising reputation, and what to obtain ? What, but the ex- 
perience of difficulties, and the credit of overcoming them ; the 
useful chastisement, which unkindness has inflicted, and the con- 
scious satisfaction of not having merited, nor in any instance of 
my life revenged it ? 

If I do not know myself I am not fit to be my own biographer ; 
and if I do know myself I am sure I never took delight in egot- 
isms, and now behold ! I am self-devoted to deal in little else. 
Be it so ! I will abide the consequences ; I will not tell untruths 
to set myself out for better than I have been, but as I have not 
been overpaid by my contemporaries, I will not scruple to exact 
what is due to me from posterity. — Ipje de me scribam. (Cic.) 

I have said that I was born on the 19th of Februaiy 1732 ; I 
was not the eldest child, though the only son, of my mother ; 
my sister Joanna was more than two years older than I, and more 
than twice two years before me in apprehension, for whilst she 
profited very rapidly by her mother's teaching, I by no means 
trod in her steps, but on the conti-ary, after a few impromising 
efforts, peremptorily gave up the cause, and persisted in a stub- 
born repugnance to all instruction. My mother's good sense and 
my grandfather's good advice concurred in the measures to be 
taken with me in this state of mutiny against all the powers of 
the alphabet ; my book was put before me, my lesson pointed 
out, and though I never articulated a single word, I conned it 
over in silence to myself. I have traces of my sensations at this 
period still in my mind, and perfectly recollect the revolt I receiv- 
ed from reading of the Heathen Idols, described in the 1 1 5th psalm 
as having eyes and not seeing, ears, and not hearing, with other 
contrarieties, which between positive and negative so completely 
overset my small stock of ideas, that I obstinately stood fast up- 
on the halt, dumb and insensible to instruction as the images in 
question. Of this circumstance, exactly as I relate it, with those 
sensations, which it im.pressed upon my infantine mind, I now 
retain, as I have already said, distinct recollection. 

If there is any moral in this small incident, which can impart a 
cautionary hint to the teachers of children, my readers will for- 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 15 

give mc for treating them with a story of the nursery. I have on- 
ly to add, that v/hen I at length took to my business, I have my 
rnotlicr's testimony for sayinij that I repaid her patience. 

My family divided their time between Cambridge and Stan- 
wick so long as my^randfather lived, and when I was turned of 
six years I was sent to the school at Bury Saint Edmund's, then 
under the mastership of the Reverend Arthur Kinsman, who 
formed his scholars upon the system of Westminster, and was a 
1'rinity College man, much esteemed by my grandfather. This 
school, when I came to it, was in high reputation, and numbered 
a hundred and fifty boys. Kinsman was an excellent master, a 
very sufficient scholar, and had all the professional requisites of 
voice, air and aspect, that marked him out at first sight as a per- 
sonage decidedly made on purpose — habere hnperhim in ftieros. 
In his hands I can truly witness the reins of empire never slack- 
ened, but we did not murmur against his authority, for with all 
his warmth of temper he was kind, cordial, open-hearted and an 
impartial administrator of punishments and praises, as they vrere 
respectively deserved. His name was high in the counties of 
Suffolk and Norfolk, and the chief families in those parts were 
present with him in the persons of their representatives, and some 
yet living can bear witness to the vigour of his ann. He was fiery 
zealous for the honour of his school, which by the terms of his 
establishment was subject to the visitation of those who were in 
the government of it, and I remember upon a certain occasion, 
when these gentlemen entered the school-room, in the execution 
of their ofiice, (I being then in the rostrum in the act of constru- 
ing Juvenal) he ordered me to proceed vvithout noticing their ap- 
pearance, and something having passed to give him offence a- 
gainst one of their number in particular, taking up the passage 
then under immediate recitation, he echoed forth in a loud and 
pointed tone of voice — 

Nos, noztraque li'vldus odit. 

It must be confessed that my good old master had a vaunting 
kind of style in setting forth his school, and once in conversation 
with my grandfather in Trinity Lodge, he was so unaccountably 
misled by the spirit of false prophecy, as to venture to say in a ral- 
lying kind of way — " Master, I will make your grandson as 
" good a scholar as yourself." — To this Doctor Bentley in the 
like vein of raillery replied — " Pshaw, Arthur, how can that be, 
" when I have forgot more than thou ever knew'st r" Certain it. 
is that my inauspicious beginnings augured very ill for the bold 
prediction, thus improvidently hazarded ; for so supremely idle 
was I, and so far from being animated by the charms of the Latin 
grammar, that the labour of instruction was out labour lost, and 
it seemed a chance if I was destined to arrive at any other ac- 
quirement but the art of sinkings in which I regularly proceeded 
till I found my proper station at the veiy bottom of my class, 



16 MEMOiRli VF 

which, as far as idleness could be my security, I was likely to 
take lasting possession of. 

I am persuaded however that the tranquillity of my ignorance 
would have suffered no interruption from the remonstrances of 
the worthy usher of the under-school, who sate in a plaid night- 
gown and let things take their course, had not the penetrating 
eye of old Kinsman discovered the grandson of his friend far 
in the rear of the line of honour, and in a fair train to give the 
flattest contradiction to his prophecy. Whereupon one day, 
which by me can never be forgotten, calling me up to him in his 
chair at the head of the school, he began with much solemnity and 
in a loud voice to lecture me very sharply, whilst all eyes were 
upon me, all ears open, and a dead silence, horrible to my 
feelings, did not leave a hope that a single word had escaped 
the notice of my school-fellows. I well remember his demand- 
ing of me what report I could expect him to make of me to my 
grandfather Bentley. I shuddered at the nam.e, even at that ear- 
ly age so loved and so revered : I made no defence ; I had none 
to make, and he went thundering on, farther perhaps than he 
need to have gone, had he given less scope to his zeal, and trust- 
ed more to his intuition, for the keenness of his reproof had sunk 
into my heart ; I was covered with shame and confusion ; I re- 
tired abashed to my seat, which was the lowest in my class, and 
that class the lowest save one in the under-school : I hid my face 
between my hands, resting my head upon the desk before me, 
and gave myself up to tears and contrition : when I raised my eyes 
and looked about me, I thought I discovered contempt in the coun- 
tenances of the boys. At that moment the spirit of emulation, 
which had not yet awaked in my heart, was thoroughly roused ; 
but whilst I was thus resolving upon a reform I fell ill, whether 
from agitation of mind, or from cause more natural I know not : 
I was, however, laid up in a sick bed for a considerable time, 
and in that piteous situation visited by my mother, who came 
from Cambridge on the alarm, and under her tender care I at 
length regained both my spirits and my health. 

My mother now returned to Cambridge, and I was taken into 
Kinsman's own house as a boarder, where being associated with 
boys of a better description, and more immediately under the 
eye of my most timely admonisher, I took all the pains that my 
years would admit of to deserve his better opinion and regain 
my lost ground. My diligence was soon followed by success, 
and success encouraged me to fresh exertions. 

I presume the teachers of grammar do not expect boys of a 
very early age to understand it as a body of rules, but merely as 
an exercise of memory ; yet it is well to imprint it on their 
memories, that they may more readily apply to it as they ad- 
vance in their acquaintance with the language. I had naturally 
a good memory, and practice added such a facility of getting by 
heart, that in my repetitions, when we challenged for places, I 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 17 

entered the lists with all possible advantages, and soon found 
myself able to break a lance with the very best of my competi- 
tors. The good man in the plaid gown now began to regard me 
with less than his usual indifference, and my early star was evi- 
dently in the ascendant. Such were to me the happy conse- 
quences of my worthy master's seasonable admonition. 

After the decease of Mrs. Bentley, my mother, whose devo- 
tion to her father was returned by the warmest aflection on his 
part, passed much of her time, as my father did of his, at Cam.- 
bridge ; there I also passed my holidays, and the undescribable 
gratification those delightful seasons gave me, hath left traces of 
the times long past and the persons now dead, that can only be 
effaced by death, and of their surviving e\ en that I should be 
loth to lose the hope. I was become capable of understanding 
my grandfather to be the great man he really was, and began to 
listen to him with attention, and treasure up his sayings in my 
mind. I was admitted to dine at his table, had my seat next to 
his chair, served him in many little offices, and went upon his er- 
rands with a promptitude and alacrity that shewed what pride I 
took in such commissions, and tempted his good nature to in- 
vent occasions for employing me. 

One day I full well remember my old master Kinsman walked 
into the room, and was welcomed by my grandfather with the 
cordiality natural to him. In the mean time m.y heart fluttered 
with alarm r.nd dread of that report, which he had once threat- 
ened to prefer against me : nothing could be further from his 
generous thoughts, and as soon as ever he was at leisure to no- 
tice such an insignificant little being, it was with the affection 
and caresses of a father ; when I looked in liis face there was 
no longer any feature of the school-master in if, the ten-ors 
of the ferula and the rod were vanished out of sight, and that 
upright strutting little person, which in authority was so awful, 
had now relaxed from its rigidity, and no longer strove to swell 
itself into importance. Arthur notwithstanding was a great 
man on his own ground, and though he venerated the master of 
Trinity College, he did not renounce a proper self esteem for 
the master of bury School, and the dignity appertaining to that 
office, which he tilled, and to which Bentley himself had once 
stooped for instruction. He was a gay social fellow, who loved 
his friend, and had no antipathy to his bottle ; he had then a 
kind of dashing discourse, savouring somewhat of the shop., 
which trifles did not check, and contradiction could not daunt. 
He I'.ad at this very time been recreating his spirit vrith the com- 
pany in the combination room, and was fairly primed with 
priestly port. My grandfather I dare say discovered nothing of 
this, and Walker, who accompanied Kinsman to the lodge, was 
exactly in that state when silence is the best resort : Arthur in 
the mean time, whose tongue conviviality had by no means tied 
up, began to open his school books upon Bentley, and bad 
B 2 



18 MEMOIRS OF 

drawn him into Homer ; Greek now rolled in torrents from the 
lips of Bentley, and the most learned of moderns chanted forth 
the inspired rhapsodies of the most illustrious of ancients in a 
strain delectable indeed to the ear, but not very edifying to poor 
little me and the ladies ; nay, I should even doubt if the master 
of Bury School understood all that he heard, but that the worthy 
vice master of Trinity was innocent of all apprehension, and 
clear of the plot, if treason was wrapped up in it, I can upon 
my knowledge of him confidently vouch. This, however, I re- 
member, and my mother has frequently in time past refreshed 
my recollection of it, that Joshua Barnes in the course of this 
conversation being quoted by Kinsman, as a man understanding 
Greek, and speaking it almost like his mother tongue — " Yes," 
replied Bentley, " I do believe that Barnes had as much Greek, 
*< and understood it about as well, as an Athenian blacksmith." 
Of Pope's Homer he said he had read it ; it was an elegant 
poem, but no translation. Of the learned Warburton, then in 
the outset of his fame, he remarked that there seemed to be in 
him a voracious appetite for knowlege ; he doubted if there was 
a good digestion. This is an anecdote I refer to those who are 
competent to make or reject the application. 

At no great distance of time from this period, which I have 
been now recording. Doctor Bentley died and was buried in 
Trinity College chapel by the side of the altar table, where a 
square black stone records his name and nothing more. It re- 
mains with the munificence of that rich society to award him 
other monum.ental honours, whenever they may think it right to 
grace his memory with a tablet. He was seized with a complaint 
that in his opinion, seemed to indicate a necessity of immediate 
bleeding ; Dr. Heberden, then a young physician practising in 
Cambridge, was of a contrary opinion, and the patient acquiesced. 
His friend, Dr. Wallis, in whose skilful practice and experience he 
so justly placed his confidence, was unfortunately absent from 
Stamford, and never came upon the summons for any purpose 
but to share in the sorrows of his family, and lament the non- 
compliance with the process he had recommended, which, ac- 
cording to his judgment of the case, was the very measure he 
should himself have taken. 

I believe I felt as much affliction as my age was capable of 
when my master Kinsman imparted the intelligence of my grand- 
father's death to me, taking me into his private chamber, and la- 
menting the event with great agitation. Whilst I gave vent to 
my tears, he pressed me tenderly in his arms, and encouraging 
me to persist in my diligence, assured me of his favour and pro- 
tection. He kept me out of school for a few days, gave me pri* 
vate instruction, and then sent me forth ardently resolved to ac- 
quit myself to his satisfaction. From this time I may truly say 
my task was my delight. I rose rapidly to the head of my class, 
jin'd in the whole course of my progress through the upper school 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 19 

never once lost my place of head boy, though daily challenged 
by those, who were as anxious to dislodge me from my post as I 
was to maintain myself in it. As I have the honour to name both 
Bishop Warren, and his brother Richard, the physician, as two 
amongst the most foilifiidable of my form-fellows, I may venture 
to say that school-boy must have been more than commonly a- 
lert, whom they could not overtake and depose ; but the exer- 
tion of my competitors was such a spur to my industry and am- 
bition, that my mind was perpetually in its business. Had I in 
any careless moment suffered a discomfiture, my mortification 
would have been most poignant, but the dread I had of that event 
caused me always to be prepared against it, and I held posses- 
sion of my post under a suspended sword, that hourly menaced 
me without ever dropping. 

Whilst I dwell on the detail of anecdotes like the above I must 
refer myself to the candour of the reader, but though it behoves 
me to study brevity, where I cannot furnish am.usement, it would 
be totally inconsistent with the plan I have laid down, to pass 
over in total silence this period of my life ; an a:ra in the history 
of every man's mind and character, only to be omitted when it 
is not to be obtained ; a plea, which those, who are their own 
biographers, are not privileged to make. 

My good old master was a hospitable man, and every Wed- 
nesday held a kind of public day, to which his friends and neigh- 
bours used to resort. On that day he drank his bottle of port 
and played his game of back-gammon, after which he came in 
gaity of heart to evening-scliool for one hour only. It was a gala 
day for all the boys, and for me in particular, as I was sure on all 
those occasions to be ordered up to the rostrum to recite antl 
expound Juvenal, and he seldom failed to keep me so employed 
through the whole time. He had a great partiality for that ner- 
vous author, and I remember his reciting the following passage in 
a kind of rapturous enthusiasm in the ears of all the school, cry- 
ing out that he defied the writers of the Augustan age to pro- 
duce one equal to it. — The classical reader very probably will 
not second his opinion, but I dare say he will not fail to antici- 
pate the passage, which is as foUovv^s — 

Ejto bonus mUes, tutor bonus, arbiter idem 
Integer ; ambigua; siquando citabere causiey 
Incerta-que rei, Phnlaris licet imperet ut sis 
Falsus, et admoto diclet perjuria Tauro, 
Sum mum crede nefas unimam preferre padoriy 
Et propter vitam 'vi'vendi perdere causas. 

This is unquestionably a fine passage and a sublime moral, but 
I rather suspect there is a quaintness, and something of what the 
Italians call concetto, in the concluding line, that is not quite in 
the style and cast of the purer age. 



20 MEMOIRS OF 

The tasks of a school-boy are of three descriptions ; he is to 
give the construction of his author, to study his repetitions, and 
to write what are called his exercises, whether in verse or prose. 
In the former two, the tasks of construing and saying by heart, 
it was the usage of our school to challenge for places : In this 
province my good fortune was unclouded ; in my exercises I 
did not succeed so well, for by aiming at something like fancy 
and invention I was too frequently betrayed into grammatical er- 
rors, whilst my rivals presented exercises with fewer faults, and, 
by attempting scarcely any thing, hazarded little. These pre- 
mature and imperfect sallies, which I gave way to, did me no 
credit with my master, and once in particular upon my giving in a 
copy of Latin verses, unpardonably incorrect, though not entire- 
ly void of imagination, he commented upon my blunders with 
great severity, and in the hearing of my form-fellows threatened 
to degrade me from my station at their head. I had earned that 
station by hard labour and unceasing assiduity ; I had maintain- 
ed it against their united efforts for some years, and the dread of 
being at once deprived of what they had not been able to take 
from me, had such an effect on my sensibility, that I never per- 
fectly recovered it, and probably should at no time after have 
gained any credit in that branch of my school business, had I 
not been transplanted to Westminster. 

The exercise, for winch I was reprehended, I well remember 
was a Cv'^py of verses upon Phalaris's bull, which bull I confess 
led me into some bliaidei-s, that my master might have observed 
upon with more temper. I stood in need of instruction, and he 
inflicted discouragement. 

Though I love the memory of my good old master, and am 
under infinite obligations to his care and kindness, yet having 
severely experienced how poignant are the inflictions of discour- 
agement to the feelings, and how repulsive to the efforts of the 
imformed embryo genius, I cannot state this circumstance in any 
better light than as an oversight in point of education, which, 
though well-intentioned on his part, could only operate to de- 
stroy what it was his object to improve. 

When the talents of a young and rising author shall be found 
to profit by the denunciations and brow-beatings of his hyper- 
critical contemporaries, then, and not till then, it will be right 
to train up our children according to this system, and discour- 
agement be the best model for education, which the conductors 
of it can adopt. 

As our master had lately discontinued his custom of let- 
ting his boys act a play of Terence before the Christmas holi- 
days, after the example of Westminster, some of us undertook 
without his leave, though probably not without his knowledge 
and connivance, to get up the tragedy of Cato at one of the 
boarding-houses, and invite the gentry of the town to be present 
at our childish exhibition. We escaped from school one even- 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 21 

ing, and climbed tlie wall that iiitercepted us from the scene of 
action, to prepare ourselves for this goodly show. A full bot- 
tomed periwig for Cato, and female attire for Portia and Mar- 
cia borrowed from the maids of the lodging house, were the 
chief articles of our scSnty wardrobe, and of a piece with the 
wretchedness of our property was the wretchedness of our per- 
formance. Our audience, however, which was not very select, 
endured us, and we slept upon our laurels, till the next morning 
being made to turn out for the amusement of the whole school, 
and go through a scene or two of our evening's entertainment, 
we acquitted ourselves so little to the satisfaction of Mr. Kins- 
man, that after bestowing some hearty bullets upon the virtuous 
Marcia, who had tozucrcd above her sex in the person of a most 
ill-favoured wry-necked boy, the rest of our dramatis persona 
were sentenced to the fine of an imposition, and dismissed. The 
part of Juba had been my cast, and the tenth satire of Juvenal 
was my portion of the fine inflicted. 

It was about tliis time I made my first attempt in English 
"verse, and took for my subject an excursion I had made with 
my family in the summer holidays to visit a relation in Hamp- 
shire, which engaged me in a description of the docks at Ports- 
mouth, and of the races of Winchester, where I had been pres- 
ent. I believe my poem was not short of a hundred lines, and 
was written at such times as I could snatch a few minutes from 
my business or amusements. I did not like to risk the conse- 
quences of confiding it to my school-fellows, but kept it closely 
secret till the next breaking up, when I exhibited it to my father, 
who received it after his gracious manner with unreserved com- 
mendation, and persisted in reciting it to his intimates, when I 
had gained experience enough to wish he had consigned it to 
oblivion. 

Though I have no copy of this childish performance, I bear 
in my remembrance two introductory couplets, which were the 
first English lines I ever wrote, and are as follows — 

Since every scribbler claims his share of fame. 
And every Cibber boasts a Drydeti^s name-, 
Permit an infant Muse her chance to try ; 
All have a right to that, and why not I ? 

One other lame and miserable couplet just now occurs to me, 
as being quoted frequently upon me by my mother as an in- 
stance in the art of sinking, and it is clear I had stumbled upon 
it in my description of the dock-yard, viz. — 

" Here they <iveave cables, there they main-masts form, 
" Here they forge anchors — useful in a storm" 

My good father however was not to be put by from his de- 
fences by trifles, and stoutly stood by my anchors, contending 



22 MEMOIRS OF 

that as tliey were unquestionably useful in a storm, I had said no- 
more of them than was true, and why should I be asliamed of 
having spoken the truth ? Yet ashamed I was some shoit time af- 
ter, not indeed for having violated the truth, but for suppressing 
it, and my dilemma was occasioned by the following circum- 
stance. "I had picked up an epigram amongst my school-fellows, 
Vvhich struck my fancy, and without naming the author, (for I 
kn.ew him not,) I repeated it to my father — it was this — 

Poets of old did Argus prize 
Because he had a7i bimdred eyes. 
But sure more praise to him is due. 
Who looks an hundred nvays luith tiuo. 

In repeating this epigram, which perhaps the reader can find 
an author for, I did not give it out as my own, but it was so un- 
derstood by my father, and he circulated it as mine, and took 
pleasure in repeating it as such am.ongst his fi-iends and intimates. 
In this state of the mistake, when his ci-edit had been affixed to 
it, I had not courage to disavow it, and the time being once gone 
by for saving my honour, I suifered him to persist in his eiTor 
under the continual teiTor of detection. The dread of thus for- 
feiting his good opinion hung upon my spirits for a length of 
time ; it passed however undiscovered to the end of his life, and 
I now implore pardon of his memory for the only fallacy I ever 
put upon him to the conviction of my conscience. 

After the death of Doctor Bentley my family resided in the 
parsonage house of Stanwick near Kigham Ferrers in Northamp- 
tonshire ; it had been newly built from the ground by my father's 
predecessor Doctor Needham, from a plan of Mr. Burroughs of 
Caius College, an architect of no small reputation ; it was a hand- 
some square of four equal fronts, built of stone, containing four 
rooms on a floor, Avith a gallery running through the center ; it 
was seated on the declivity of a gentle hill, with the village to the 
south, amongst trees and pasture grounds in view, and a small 
stream in the valley between ; on the north, west and south were 
gardens, on the east the church at some little distance, and in the 
intermediate space an excellent range of stables and coach houses, 
built by my father, and forming one side of a square court laid out 
for the approach of carriages to the house. The spire of Stan- 
wick Church is esteemed one of the most beautiful models in that 
style of architecture in the kingdom ; my father added a very 
handsome clock and ornamented the chancel with a railing, screen 
and entablature upon three-quarter columns with a singing gal- 
lery at the west end, and spared no expense to keep his church 
not only in that neatness and decorum, which befits the house of 
prayer, but also in a perfect state of good and permanent repair. 

Here in the hearts of his parishioners, and the esteem of his 
neighbours, my good father lived tranquil and unambitious, nev- 
er soliciting other preferment than this for the space of thirty 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 25 

years, holding only a small prebend in the church of Lincoln, 
given to him by his imcle, Bishop Reynolds. He was in the 
commission of the peace, and a very active magistrate in the rec- 
oncilement of parties, rather than in the commitment of persons : 
in those quiet parts offences were in general trivial, and the dif- 
ferences merely such as an attorney could contrive to hook a suit 
upon, so that with a very little legal knowledge, and a very hos- 
pitable generous disposition, my father rarely failed to put con- 
tentious spirits to peace by reference to the kitchen and the cel- 
lar. In the mean time his popularity rose in proportion as his 
beer-barrels sunk, and as often as he made peace he made friends, 
till, I may ',.c:y without axaggeration, he had all men's good word 
in his favour and their services at his command. In the mean 
time such was the orderly behaviour and good discipline of his 
own immediate flock, that I have frequently heard him say he 
never once had occasion during his long residence amongst them 
to issue his warrant within the p^-ecincts of his own happy vil- 
lage, which being seated between the more populous and less 
correct parishes of Raunds and Higham-Ferrers, he used appo- 
sitely to call Lii'i'e 7.oor, but made no further allusions to the evil 
neighbourhood of Zoar. 

In this peaceful spot with parents so affectionate I was the 
happiest of beings in my breakings-up from school. Those de- 
lightful scenes are fresh in my remembrance, and when I have 
occasionally revisited them, since the decease of objects ever so 
dear to me, the sensations they have excited are not for me to 
describe. I had inherited an excellent constitution, and, though 
not robust in make, was more than commonly adroit in my ath- 
letic exercises. In swiftness of foot for a short distance no boy 
in Bury School could m.atch me, and, when at Cambridge, I gave 
a general challenge to the collegians, which was decided in Trin- 
ity Walks in my favour. 

Those field sports, of which the young and active ai'enaturally 
so fond, I enjoyed by my father's favour in perfection, and in my 
winter holidays constantly went out with him upon his hunting 
days, and was ahvays admirably mounted. He was light and el- 
egant in his person, and had in his early youth kept horses and 
rode matches at Newmarket after the example of his elder broth- 
er ; but though his profession had now put a stop to those lev- 
ities, he shared in a pack of hariers with a neighbouring gentle- 
man, and was a bold and excellent rider. In my first attendan- 
ces upon him to the field, the joys of hunting scoixely compen- 
sated for the terrors I sometimes felt in following him against 
my will upon a racing galloway, wliich he had purchased of old 
Panton, and whose attachment to her leader was such as left me 
no option as to the pace I would wish to go, or the leaps I 
would avoid to take. At length when age added strength and 
practice gave address, falls became familiar to me, and I left both 
fear and prudence behind me in the pleasures of the chace. 



24 MEMOIRS OF 

It was in these intervals from school that my mother began to 
form both my taste and my ear for poetry, by employing me ev- 
ery evening to read to her, of which art she was a very able 
mistress. Our readings were with very few exceptions confined 
to the chosen plays of Shakspeare, whom she both admired and 
understood in the true spirit and sense of the author. Under 
her instruction I became passionately fond of these our evening 
entertainments ; in the mean time she was attentive to model 
my recitation, and correct my manner with exact precision. 
Her comments and illustrations were such aids and instructions 
to a pupil in poetry as few could have given. What I could not 
else have understood she could aptly explain, and wnut I ought 
to admire and feel nobody could more happily select and recom- 
mend. I well remember the care she took to mark out for my 
observation the peculiar excellence of that unrivalled poet in the 
consistency and preservation of his characters, and wherever in- 
stances occurred amongst the §tarts and sallies of his unfettered 
fancy of the extravagant and false sublime, her discernment of- 
tentimes prevented me from being so dazzled by the glitter of 
the period as to misapply my admiration, and betray my want 
of taste. With all her father's critical acumefi she could trace, 
and teach me to unravel, all the meanders of his metaphor, and 
point out where it illuminated, or where it only loaded and ob- 
scured the meaning ; these were happy hours and interesting 
lectures to me, whilst my beloved father, ever placid and com- 
placent, sate beside us, and took part in our amusement : his 
voice was never heard but in the tone of approbation ; his coun- 
tenance never marked but with the natural traces of his indelible 
and hereditary benevolence. 

The effect of these readings was exactly that, which was natu- 
rally to be foreseen. I began to try my strength in several slight 
attempts towards the drama, and as Shakspeare was most up- 
on my tongue and nearest to my heart, I fitted and compiled a 
kind of cento, which I intitled Shakspeare in the Shades, and form- 
ed into one act, selecting the characters of Hamlet and Ophelia, 
Romeo and Juliet, Lear and Cordelia, as the persons of my dra- 
ma, and giving to Shakspeare, who is present throughout the 
piece, Ariel, as an attendant spirit, and taking for the motto to 
my title-page — 

Ast alii sex, 
Et plures, iino conclamant ore — 

I should premise that I was now at the head of Bury School, 
though only in my twelfth year, and not very slightly grounded 
in the Greek and Latin classics, tliere taught. 

The scene is laid in Elysium, where the poet is discovered and 
opens the drama with the following address — 

" Most fair and equal hearers, know, that whilst this soul in- 
" hal;)ited its fleshy tabernacle, I was called Shakspeare j a great- 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 25 

*' er name and more exalted honours have dignified its dissolu- 
•< tion. Blest with a liberal portion of the divine spirit, as a 
♦' tribute due to the bounty of the gods, I left behind me an im- 
<' mortal monumentof my fame. Think not that I boast ; the 
" actions of departed beings may not be censured by any mortal 
" wit, nor are accountable to any earthly tribunal. Let it suf- 
*' fice that in the grave — 

When ive have shujjled off this mortal coyle — 

" All envy and detraction, all pride and vain-glory are no more ; 
** still a grateful remembrance of humanity and a tender regard 
" for our posterity on earth follow us to this happy seat ; and 
" it is in this regard I deign once more to salute you with my 
<' favoured presence, and am content to be again an actor for your 
" sakes. I have been attentive to your sufferings at my mourn- 
" ful scenes ; guardian of that virtue, which I left in distress, I 
" come now, the instrument of Providence, to compose your 
" sorrows, and restore to it the proportioned reward. Those 
" bleeding characters, those martyred worthies, whom I have 
" sent untimely to the shades, shall now at length and in your 
" sight be crowned with their beloved retribution, and the jus- 
" tice, which as their poet I withheld from them, as the arbiter 
" and disposer of their fate, I will award to them ; but for the 
" villain and the adulterer — 

The perjured and the simular man of "virtue — 

" the proud, the ambitious, and the murderer, I shall — 

Leave such to heaven. 
And to those thorns, that in their bosoms lodge 
To prick and sting them. — 

" But soft ! I see one coming, that often hath beguiled you of 
*' your tears — the fair Ophelia — " 

The several parties now make their respective appeals, and 
Shakspeare finally summons them all before him by his agent 
Ariel, for v/hose introduction he prepares the audience by the 
following soliloquy — ■ 

" Now comes the period of my high commission ! 
" All have been heard, and all shall be restor'd, 
" All errors blotted out and all obstructions, 
*' Mortality entails, shall be remov'd, 
« Arid from the mental eye the film withdrawn, 
" Which in its corporal union had obscur'd 
" And clouded the pure virtue of its sight. 
" But to these purposes I niust employ 
C 



26 MEMOIRS or 

" My ready spirit Ariel, some time minister 

" To Prospero, and the obsequious slave 

" Of his enchantments, from whose place preferr'd 

" He here attends to do me services, 

'< And qualifies these beings for Elysium — 

" Hoa ! Ariel, approach my dainty spirit ! 

f Ariel enters.) 

All hail, great master, grave Sir, hail J I come 4f 

To ans^uer thy best pleasure ; be it to fly, 

To s-cuim, to di've into the fire, to ride 

On the curled clouds — to thy strong bidding task 

Ariel and all his qualities — 

Shakspeare. 

" Knov/ then, spirit, 
" Into this grove six shades consign'd to bliss 
*' I've separately remov'd, of each sex three ; 
*' Unheard of one another and unseen 
" There they abide, yet each to each endear'd 
" By ties of strong affection : not the same 
" Their several objects, though the effects alike, 
" But husband, father, lover make the change. 
" Now though the body's perish'd, yet are they 
*' Fresh from their sins and bleeding with their wrongs ; 
" Therefore all sense of injury remove, 
" Heal up their wounded faculties anew, 
" And pluck afHiction's arrow from their hearts ; 
*' Refine their passions, for gross sensual love 
" Let it become a pure and faultless friendship, 
*' Raise and confirm their joys, k-. them exchange 
" Their fleeting pleasures for immortal peace : 
" This done, with speed condi'ct them each toothei' 
** So chang'd, and set the happy choir before me." 

I have the whole of this puerile production, v/ritten in a school- 
boy's hand, which by some chance has escaped the general wreck, 
in which I have lost some records, that 1 should now be glad to 
resort to. I am not quite sure that I act fairly by my readers 
when I give any part of it a place in these memoirs, yet as an 
instance of the impression, which my mother's lectures had 
made upon my youthful fancy, and perhaps as a sample of com- 
position indicative of m.ore thought and contrivance, than are 
commonly to be found in boys at so very early an age, I shall 
proceed to transcribe the concluding part of the scene, in which 
Romeo has his audience, and can truly affirm that the copy is 
faithful without the alteration or addition of a single word — ■ 



Romeo. 

" — O thou, the great disposer of my fate, 
'< Judge of my actions, patron of my cause, 
" Tear not asunder such united hearts, 
'■ But give me up to love and to my Juliet. 

Shakspeare. 

"■' Unthinking youth, thou dost forget thyself; 

♦' Rash inconsiderate boy, must I again 

" Remind thee of thy fate ? What ! know'st thou not 

«' The man, whose desperate hand foredoes himself, 

" Is doom'd to wander on the Stygian shore 

" A restless shade, forlorn and comfortless, 

" For a whole age ? Nor shall he hope to sooth 

" The callous ear of Charon, till he win 

". His passion by repentance and submission 

" At this my nxt tribunal, else be sure 

" The wretch shall hourly pace the lazy wharf 

" To view the beating of the Stygian wave, 

" And waste his irksome leisure. 

Romeo. 
Gracious powers, 

Is this my doom, my torment — ? Heaven is here 
Where Juliet li-ves, and each uniuorthy thing 
Lives here in heaven and may look on her^ 
But Romeo may not : more validity^ 
More honourable state-, more ^^uorship lives 
In carrion flies than Romeo ; they tnuy seize 
On the ivhite ivotider of my love's dear hand. 
And steal immortal biasings from her lips. 
But Remeo may not ; " He is doom'd to bear 
" An age's pain and sigh in banishment, 
" To drag a restless being on the shore 
" Of gloom.y Styx, and weep into the flood, 
" Till, with his tears made full, the briny stream" 
Shall kiss the most exalted shores of all. 

Shakspcare. 

" Now then dost thcu repent thy follies past ? 

Romeo. 

" Oh, ask me if I feel my torments present, 
" Then judge if I repent my follies past. 
" Had I but powers to tell you what I feel, 



28 MEMOIRS OF 

*< A tongue to speak my heart's unfeign'd contritioB, 

" Then might I lay the bleeding part before you ; 

*' But 'twill not be — something I yet would say 

" To extenuate my crime ; I fain would plead 

" The merit of my love — but I have done — 

" However hard my sentence, I submit. 

*' My faithless tongue turns traitor to my heart, 

" And will not utter what it fondly prompts ; 

*' A rising gust of passion drowns my voice, 

♦' And I'm most dumb when I've most need to sue. 

(Ktieelu) 
Sbakspears. 

" Arise, young Sir ! before my mercy-seat 

" None kneel in vain ; repentance never lost 

" The cause she pleaded. Mercy is the proof, 

" The test that marks a character divine ; 

" Were ye like merciful to one another, 

♦♦ The earth would be a heaven and men the gods. 

" Withdraw awhile ; I see thy heart is full ; 

" Grief at a crime committed merits more 

" Than exultation for a duty done. 

(Romeo ivithdraws>) 

Shakspears remains and speaks — 

" What rage is this, O man, that thou should'st dare 

" To turn unnatural butcher on thyself, 

<' And thy presumptuous violent hand uplift 

" Against that fabric which the gods have rais'd I 

" Insolent wretch, did that presumptuous hand 

•' Temper thy wond'rous frame ? Did that bold spirit 

" Inspire the quicken'd clay with living breath ? 

•' Do not deceive thyself. Have the kind gods 

*' Lent their own goodly image to thy use 

" For thee to break at pleasure ? — 

*< What are thy merits ? Where is thy dominion ? 

" If thou aspii'st to rule, rule thy desires. 

" Thou poorly turn'st upon thy helpless body, 

«< And hast no heart to check thy growing sins : 

" Thou gain'st a mighty victory o'er thy life, 

" But art enslaved to thy basest passions, 

" And bowest to the anarchy within thee. 

" O ! have a care 

" Lest at thy great account thou should'st be found 

" A thriftless steward of thy master's substance. 

" 'Tis his to take away, or sitik at will, 

« Thou but the tenant to a greater lord, 

" Nor maker, nor the m.onarch of thyself." 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. :ii* 

I select these extracts, because what is within hooks is of my 
ov.n composing, whereas in the preceding scenes, where the 
characters make their appeal, I perceive I had in general contriv- 
ed to let them speak the language, which their own poet had 
given to them.. I presume to add that the passages I have ex- 
tracted from their parts, as they stand in the originals of their 
great author, are ingeniously enough chosen and appositely in- 
troduced ; I likewise take the liberty to observe, that where I 
have in those scenes above alluded to, connected the extracts 
with my own dialogue, considering it as the work of so mere a 
novice, it is not contemptibly executed. As I have solemnly 
disavowed all deception or finesse in the whole conduct of these 
memoirs, so in this instance I have not sought to excite surprise 
by making my years fewer, or my verses better, than they strict- 
ly and truly were, having faithfully attested the one, and cor- 
rectly transcribed the other. 

My worthy old master at Bury, now in the decline of life, fh- 
timated his purpose of retiring, and my father took the oppor- 
tunity of transplanting me to "Westminster, where he admitted 
'ne under Doctor Nichols, and lodged me in the boarding house, 
'ien kept by Ludford, where he himself had been placed. He 
:ok me in his hand to the master, who seemed a good deal sur- 
prised to hoar that I had passed through Bury School at the age 
of twelve, and imm.cuiateiy put a Homer before me, and after 
that an ode- in Horace. I turned my eyes upon my father, and 
perceived him to be in considerable agitation. There happened 
1 •■) be no occasion for it, as the passages were familiar to me, and 
y amiable cxau)iner seemed perfectly disposed to approve, cau- 
■uing me however not to read in too declamatory a style, 
which," said he, " my boys will call conceited." It was 
;;hly gratifying to me to hear him say, that he had found the 
boys, who came out of Mr. Kinsman's hands, generally better 
grounded in theirbusincss than those, whocamefrom otherschools. 
The next day he gave me a short examination for form.-sake at 
the table, and placed nie in the Shell. As I was then only- 
twelve years old, and small in stature for my years, my location 
in so high a class was regarded with some surprise by the coips, 
into which I was so unexpectedly enrolled. Doctor Johnson, 
afterwards Bishop of Worcester, was then second master ; Vin« 
cent Bourne, well known to the literary world for his elegant 
Latin verses, was usher of the fifth form, and Lloyd, afterwards 
second ma;^ter, v.'as at the fourth. Cracherode, tlie learned 
collector arid munificent benefactor to the Royal Museum, was 
in the head election, and at that time as grave, studious and re- 
served as he was through life ; but correct in morals and elegant 
in manners, not courting a promiscuous acquaintance, but pleas- 
ant to those who knew him, beloved by many and esteemed by 
all. At the head of the town boys was the Earl of Huntingdon, 
whom I should not name as a bov, for he was even then the 

C 9. 



30 MEMOIRS OF 

courtly and accomplished gentleman such as the world saw and 
acknowledged him to be. The late Eai-1 of Bristol, the late Earl 
of Buckinghamshire, and the late Right Honourable Thomas 
Harley were my form-fellows, the present Duke of Richmond, 
then Lord March, WaiTen Hastings, Colman and Lloyd were in 
the under school, and what is a very extraordinary coincidence, 
there were then in school together three boys, Hinchliffe, Smith 
and Vincent, who afterwards succeeded to be severally head 
masters of Westminster School and not by the decease of any 
one of them. 

Hinchliffe might well be called the child of fortune, for he 
was born in penury and obscurity, and was lifted into opulence 
and high station, not by the elasticity of his own genius, but by 
that lucky combination of opportunities, which merit has no 
share in making, and modesty no aptitude to seize. At Trinity 
College I knew him as an under-graduate below my standing ; 
in the revolution of a few years I saw him in the station afore- 
time filled by my grandfather as master of the college, and hold- 
ing with it the bishoprick of Peterborough ; thus doubly dig- 
nified with those preferments which had separately rewarded the 
learned labours of Cumberland and Bentley. 

Smith laboured longer and succeeded less, yet he wisely chose 
his time for relaxation and retirement, whilst he was yet unex- 
hausted by his toils, sufficiently affluent to enjoy his independ- 
ence, and, with the consciousness of having done his duty, to 
consult his ease, and to dismiss his cares. 

. Vincent, whom I love as a friend and honour as a scholar, 
has at length found that station in the deanery of Westminster, 
which, whilst it relieves him from the drudgery of the school- 
master, keeps him still attached to the interests of the school, 
and eminently concerned in the superintendence and protection 
of it. As boy and man he made his passage twice through the 
forms of Westminster, rising step by step from the very last 
boy to the very captain of the school, and again from the junior 
usher through every gradation to that of second and ultimately 
of senior master ; thus, with the interval of four years only de- 
voted to his degree at Cambridge, Westminster has indeed kept 
possession of his person, but has let the w^orld partake with her 
in the profit of his researches. Without deserting the laborious 
post, to which his duty fettered him, his excursive genius led 
him over seas and countries far remote, to follow and develop 
tracts, redeem authorities and dig up evidences long buried in 
the grave of ages. This is the more to his honour as his hours 
of study were never taken but from his hours of relaxation, and 
he stole no moment from the instruction of the boy to enrich the 
understanding of the man. His last work, small in bulk, but 
great in matter, was an unanswerable defence of public educa- 
tion, by which, with an acuteness that reflects credit on his 
genius, and a candour that does honour to his heart, he demon- 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 31 

btiatcs the advantages of that system, which had so well pror=- 
pered under his care, and generously forbears to avail himself 
of those arguments, which in a controversy with such an oppo- 
nent some men would have resorted to. Let the mitred preach- 
er against public schools rejoice in silence at his escape, but 
when the yet un-mitred master of the Temple, indisputably one 
of the first scholars and finest writers of his time, leaves _ the 
master of Westm^inster in possession of the field, it is not from 
want of courage, it less can be from want of capacity, to prolong 
the contest ; it can only be from the operation of reason on a 
candid mind, and a clearer view of that system, which whilst 
he was denouncing he probably did not recollect that he was 
himself most unequivocally patronizing in the instance of his 
own son. Diversion of thought I well know is not uncommon 
with him, perversion never will be imputed to him. 

When 1 found upon coming into the Shell, that my station 
was to be quiescent, and that all challenging for places was at 
an end, I regretted it as an opportunity lost for turning out with 
new com.petitors, so much my seniors in age, and v/ho seemed 
to regard me with an air of conscious superiority. I sat down, 
however, with ardor to my school business and also to my pri- 
vate studies, and I soon perceived that I had now no discour- 
agements to contend with, in my attempts at composition, for 
the very first exercise in Latin verse, wiiiehl gave in, gained the 
candid approbation of tlie master, and from that moment I ac- 
quired a degree of confidence in myst-lf, that gave vigour to my 
exertions ; and though I bare all possible respect antl gratitude 
to the memory of that kind friend of my youth, whose rigour 
was only the effect of anxiety for my well-doing, yet I cannot 
look back to this period of my education without acknowledg- 
ing the advantages I experienced in being thus transplanted to 
Westminster, \ijhere to attempt was to succeed, and placed un- 
der a master, whose principle it -evidently was to cherish every 
spark of genius, which he could discover in his scholai-s, and 
who seemed determined so to exercise his authority, that our 
best motives for obeying him should spring from the affection, 
th.at we entertained for him. Arthur Kinsman certainly knew 
how to make his boys scholars ; Doctor Nichols had the art of 
making his scholars gentlemen ; for there was a court of honour 
in that school, to vrhose unwritten laws every member of our 
community was amenable, and which to transgress by any act 
of meanness, that exposed the offender to public contempt, 
was a degree of punishment, compared to which the being sen- 
tenced to the rod would have been considered as an acquittal 
or reprieve. 

Whilst I am mailing this remark an instance occurs to me of 
a certain boy from the fifth, who was summoned before the seup 
iors in the seventh, and convicted of an offence, which in the 
high spirit of th.at school argued an abasement of principle and 



G2 MEMOIRS OF 

honour ; Doctor Nichols having stated the case, demanded the 
opinion of tlie crime and what degree of punishment they con- 
ceived it to deserve ; their answer was unanimously — " The 
" severest that could be inflicted" — « I can inflict none more 
" severe than you have given him," said the master, and dis- 
missed him without any other chastisement. 

It v/as not many days after my admission that I myself stood 
before him as a culprit, having been reported by the monitor for 
escapmg out of the Abbey during divine service, and joining a 
party of my school-fellows for the unjustifiable purpose of in- 
truding ourselves upon a meeting of quakers at their devotions. 
We had not been guilty of any gross impertinence, but the of- 
fence was highly reprehensible, and when my turn came to be 
called up to the master, I presume he saw my contrition, when, 
turning a mild look upon me, he said aloud — Erubuity salva est 
res, — and sent me back to my seat. 

Was it possible not to love a character like this ? Nichols cer- 
tainly was a complete fine gentleman in his oflice, and intitled 
to the respect and alfection of his scholars, who in his person 
found a master not only of the dead languages, but also of the 
living manners. As for me, who had experienced his lenity in 
the instajice above related, it cannot be to my credit that I was 
destined to put his candour once more to the proof, yet so it 
was that in an iille mom.ent 1 was disingenuous enough to give 
in an exercise in Latin verse, e\ cry line of which I had stoic: 
(uic of Duport, if i rightly recollect. It passed inspection wi;; 
out discovery, and .Doctor Nichols, after commending me f 
ihc coiitpobuion, read my verses aloud to the stidora in the Sf 
enth Ibirn, and was pi-oceeding to renew liis praises, when beii:^, 
touched wilJi remorse for the disgraceful trick, by which I had 
imposed upon him, I fairly confessed that I had pirated every 
syllable, and humbly begged his pardon — he \ aused a few mc- 
ments, and then .replied — " Child, I forgive you ; go to your 
" seat, and say nothing of the matter. You have gained more 
" credit with me by your ingenuous confession, than you could 
" have got by your verses, had they been your own — " I must 
be allowed to add, in palliation of this disreputable anecdote, 
that I had the grace to make the voluntary atonement next morn- 
ing of an exercise as tolerable as my utmost pains and capacity 
could render it. I gave it in uncalled for ; it was graciously re- 
ceived, and I took occasion to apprize the seniors in the seventh, 
that I had repented of my attempt. 

About this time the victory of Culloden having given the 
death'c-blow to the rebel cause, the Lords Kilmarnock and Bal- 
merino Vv'ere beheaded upon Tower Hill. The elegant per- 
son of the former, and the intrepid deportment of the latter, 
when sufiering on the scaffold, drew pity even from the most ob- 
durate, and I believe it was at that time very generally lamented, 
that mercy, the best attribute of kings, was not, or could not be. 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 33 

extended to embrace their melancholy case : every heart that 
felt compassion for their fate could find a plea for their offence ; 
amongst us at school we had a great majority on the side of mer- 
cy, and not a few, who in the spirit of those times, divided in 
opinion with their party. In the meanwhile it seemed a point 
of honour with the boys neither to inflame nor insult each other's 
feelings on this occasion, and I must consider the decorum ob- 
served by such young partisans on such an occasion as a cir- 
cumstance very highly to their credit. I don't doubt but re- 
spect and delicacy towards our kind and well-beloved master 
had a leading share in disposing them to that orderly and hu- 
mane behaviour. 

When the rebels were in march and had advanced to Derby 
appearances were very gloomy ; there was a language held by 
some, who threw off all reserve, that menaced danger, and in- 
timidated many of the best affected. In the height of this a- 
larm, the Honourable Mrs. Wentworth, grandmother of the late 
Marquis of Rockingham, feaiing that the distinguished loyalty 
of her noble house might expose her to pillage, secured her pa- 
pers and buried her plate, flying to my father's house for refuge, 
where she remained an inmate during the immediate pressure of 
the danger she apprehended. Here I found her at my breaking 
up from school, a fugitive from her mansion at Hairowden, and 
residing in the parsonage house at Stanwick. She was a venera- 
l)ie and excellent lady, and retained her friendship for my family 
to her death : she gave me a copy of the great Earl of Strafford's 
Letters in two folio volumes, magnificently bound. 

This was the time for my good father, who I verily think never 
knew fear, to stand forward in the exertion of that popularity, 
which was almost without example. He had been conspicuous- 
ly active in assembling the people of the neighbouring parishes, 
where his influence laid, and persuading them to enroll and turn 
out in the defence of their country. This he did in the veiy 
crisis of general despondency and alarni, whilst the disaffected 
in a near-neighbouring quarter, abetted by a noble family, which 
I need not name, in the height of their exultation were burning 
him in efligy, as a person most obnoxious to their principles and 
most hostile to their cause. In a short time, at the expense 
merely of the enlisting shilling per man, he raised two full com- 
panies of one hundred each for the regiment tlien enrolling un- 
der the command of the Earl of Halifax, and marched them in 
person to Northampton, attended by four picked men on his 
four coach horses, where he was received on his entrance into the 
town with thouts and acclamations expressive of applause so 
fairly merited. The Earl of Halifax, then high in character and 
graceful in bis person, received this tribute of my father's loyalty 
as might naturally be expected, and as a mark of his considera- 
tion insisted upon bestowing one of these companies upon me, 
for which I had the commission, though I was then too young 



S4 MEMOIRS OF 

to take command. An officer was named with the appiobatioii 
of my father, to act in my place, and the regiment set out on 
their route for Carlisle, then in the hands of the Highlanders. 
There many of them lost their lives in the siege, and the small 
pox made such cruel havock amongst our yovmg peasantry, that, 
although they liad in the first instance been cheaply raised, the 
distresses of their families brought a very considerable and last- 
ing charge upon the bounty of my father. 

I remained at Westminster School, as well as I can recollect, 
half a year in the Shell, and one year in the sixth form, and I can 
not reflect upon this period of my education without acknowl- 
edgmg the reason I have to be contented with the time so pass- 
ed. 1 did not indeed drink long and deeply at the Helicon of 
that distinguished seminary, but I had a taste of the spring and 
felt the influence of tiie waters. In point of composition I par- 
ticularly profited, for which I conceive there is in that school a 
kind of taste and character, peculiar to itself, and handed down 
perhaps from times long past, which seems to mark it out for a 
distinction, that it may indisputably claim, that of having been 
.(.bove all others the most favoured cradle of the Muses. If any 
are disposed to question this assertion, let them turn to the lives 
and histories of the poets and satisfy their doubts. I know there 
is a tide, that fiovv's from the very fountain-head of power, that 
has long run strongly in another channel, but the vicinity of 
Windsor Castle is of no benefit to the discipline and good order 
of Eton School. A wise father will no more estimate his son's 
improvement by the measure of his boarding house bills and 
pocket money amount, than a good soldier will fix his preference 
on a coips, because it happens to figure in the most splendid 
uniform, and indulge in the most voluptuous and extravagant 
mess. 

When I returned to school I was taken as a boarder into the 
family of Edmund Ashby, Esquire, elder brother of Waring, 
who had been married to my father's sister. This gentleman 
had a wife and three daughters, and occupied a spacious house 
in Peter Street, two doors from the turning out of College Street. 
Having been set aside by the will of his father, he was in nar- 
row circumstances, and his style of living was that of economy 
upon the strictest scale. No visitor ever entered his doors, nor 
did he ever go out of them in search of amusement or society. 
Temperate in the extreme, placid and unruflled, he simply veg- 
etated Vt'ithout occupation, did nothing, and had nothing to do, 
never seemed to trouble himself with much thinking, or inter- 
rupt the thoughts of others v.'ith much talking, and I don't rec- 
ollect ever to have found him engaged with a newspaper, or a 
book, so that had it not been for the favours I received from a 
fi^w Canary birds which the ladies kept, I miglit as well have 
boarded in tiie convent of La Trappe. I confess my spirits felt 
tile gloomy influence cf the sphere I lived in, and my night ■• 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 35 

were particularly loiig and heavy, annoyed as they were by the 
yells and hovvlings of the crews of the depredators, which infest 
that infamous quarter, and sometimes even roused and alarmed 
us by their pilfering attacks. In some respects however I was 
benefitted by my remcfv^al from Ludfords, as I was no longer 
under the strict confinement of a boarding house, but was once 
or twice allowed to go, under proper convoy, to the play, where 
for the first time in my life J was treated with the sight of Gar- 
rick in the character of Lothario ; (2uin played Horatio, Ryan 
Altamont, Mrs. Gibber Calista and Mrs. Pritchard condescended 
to the humble part of Lavinia. I enjoyed a good view of the 
stage from the fi-ont row of the gallery, and my attention was 
rivetted to the scene. I have the spectacle even now as it were 
before my eyes. Quin presented himself upon the rising of the 
curtain in a green velvet coat embroidered down the seems, an 
enormous fuli-boltomed periwig, rolled stockings and high-heel- 
ed square-toed shoes : with very little variation of cadence, and 
in a deep full tone, accompanied by a sawing kind of action, 
which had more of the senate than of the stage in it, he rolled 
out his heroics with an air of dignified indiiference, that seemed 
to disdain the plaudits, that v-^ere bestowed upon him. Mrs. 
Cibber in a key, high-pitched but sweet withal, sung or rather 
recitatived Rowe's harm.onious strain, something in the manner 
of the Improvisatories ; it was so extremely wanting in contrast, 
that, though it did not wound the ear, it wearied it ; when she 
had once recited two or three speeches, I could anticipate the 
manner of every succeeding one ; it was like a long old legenda- 
ry ballad of innumerable stanzas, every on» of which is sang to 
the same tune, eternally chiming in the ear without variation 
or relief. Mrs. Pritchard v/as an actress of a different cast, had 
more nature, and of course more change of tone, and variety 
both of action and expression : in my opinion the comparison 
was decidedly in her favour ; but when after long and eager ex- 
pectation I first beheld little Garrick, then young and light and 
alive in every muscle and in every feature, come bounding on 
the stage, and pointing at the wittol Altamont and heavy-paced 
Horatio — heavens, \\hat a transition ! — it seemed as if a whole 
century had been stept over in the transition of a single scene ; 
old things were done away, and a new order at once brought 
forward, bright and luminous, and clearly destined to dispel the 
barbarisms and bigotry of a tasteless age, too long attached to 
the prejudices of custom, and superstitiously devoted to the il- 
lusions of imposing declamation. This heaven-born actor \^ as 
then struggling to emancipate his audience from the slavery they 
were resigned to, and though at times he succeeded in throwing 
in some gleams of new born light upon them, yet in general they 
seemed to love darkness better tha>i light, and in the dialogue of 
altercation between Horatio and Lothario bestowed far the great- 
er show of hands upon the master of the old school than upon 



S6 MEMOIRS OF 

the founder of the new. I thank my stars, my feelings in those 
moments led me right ; they were those of nature, and there- 
fore could not err. 

At the house of Mr. Ashby I had a room to myself, a solitude 
within it, and silence without ; I had no plea for neglecting my 
studies, for I had no avocations to draw me off, and no amuse- 
ments to resort to. I pressed my private studies without inter- 
mission, and having taken up the Georgicks for recreation -sake, 
I began to entertain myself with a translation in blank verse of 
Virgil's beautiful description of the plague amongst the cattle, 
beginning at verse 478 of the third book, and continued to the 
end of the same, viz — 

Hie quondam morbo ccsli miseranda coorta est 
Tempest as — &c. &c. 

As this is one of the very few samples of my Juvemlia, which 
I have thought well enough of to preserve, I shall now insert it 
'verbatiyn from my first copy, and, without repeating former a- 
pologies, submit it unaltered in a single instance to the candour 
of the reader — 

" Here once from foul and sickly vapours sprung 
" A piteous plague, through all th' autumnal heats 
." Fatally raging ; not a beast throughout, 
" Savage or tame, escap'd the general bane. 
" The foodful pasture and frequented pool 
" Lay charg'd with mischief; death itself assum'd 
" Strange forms of horror, for when fiery drought 
" Persuasive, coursing through the circling blood, 
" The feeble limbs had wasted, straight again 
" The oozy poison work'd its cursed way, 
** Sapping the solid bones ; they by degrees 
" Sunk to corruption. Oft the victim beast, 
" As at the altar's sacred foot it stood, 
" With all its wreathy honours on its head, 
" Dropt breathless, and escap'd the tardy blow. 
" Or if its lingering spirit might chance t' await, 
" The priest's death-dealing hand, no flames arise 
" From the disposed entrails ; there they lie 
" In thick and unpresaging smoke obscur'd. 
" The question'd augur hold's his peace, and sees 
** His divination foil'd ; the slaughtering blade 
" Scarce quits its paly hue, and the light sand 
" Scarce blushes with thin and meagre blood. 

" Hence o'er the pasture rich and plenteous stalls 
*' The tender herd in fragrant sighs expire ; 
" Fell madness seizes the domestic dog ; 
" The pursy swine heave with repeated groans. 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND 

*< A rattling cough inflames their swelling l. 

" No toils secure, no palm the victoi-horse 

" Availeth, now no more the wholesome spring 

♦' Delights, no longer now the once-lov'd mead ; 

«' The fatal ill prevails ; with anguish stung 

" Raging he stamps, his ears hang down relax'd ; 

" Sometimes an intermitting sweat breaks forth, 

" Cold ever at th' approach of death ; again 

•' The dry and staring hide grows stiff and hai-d, 

" Scorch'd and impasted with the feverish heat. 

" Such the first signs of ruin, but at length 

" When the accomplish'd and mature disease 

" With its collected and full vigour works, 

" The red'ning eye-balls glow with baneful fire, 

«* The deep and hollow breath with frequent groans, 

<' Piteous variety — ! is sorely mix'd, 

" And long-drawn sighs distend the labouring sides : 

"Then forth the porches of the nose descends, 

>' As from a conduit, blood defil'd and black, 

" And 'twixt the glew'd and unresolved jaws 

" The rough and clammy tongue sticks fast — at first 

" With generous wine they drench'd the closing throat— 

" Sole antidote, worse bane at last — for then 

" Dire madness — such as the just Gods to none 

" Save to the bad consign ! — at the last pang 

" Arose, whereat their teeth with fatal gripe, 

" Like pale and ghastly executioners, 

'* Their fair and sightly limbs all mangled o'er. 

" The lab'ring ox, while o'er the furrow'd land. 
" He trails the tardy plough, down drops at once, 
" Forth issues bloody foam, till the last groan 
" Gives a long close to his labours : The sad hind 
" Unyokes his v/idow'd and complainful mate, 
" Leaving the blasted and imperfect work 
" Where the fix'd ploughshare points the luckless spot. 
*' The shady covert, where the lofty trees 
" Form cool retreat, the lawns, whose springing herb 
" Yields food ambrosial, the transparent stream, 
" Which o'er the jutting stones to th' neighbouring mead 
" Takes its fantastic course, these now no more 
*' Delight, as they were wont, rather afflict, 
" With him they cheer'd, with him their joys expir'd, 
*« Joys only in participation dear : 
*' Famine instead stares in his hollow sides, 
*' His leaden eye-balls, motionless and fix'd, 
" Sleep in their sockets, his unnerved neck 
" Hangs drooping down, death lays his load upon hinif 
" And bows him to the ground — what now avail 
" His useful toils, his life of service past ? 
D 



38 MEMOIRS OF 

« What though full oft he tum'd the subborn glebe, 

" It boots not now — yet have these never felt 

" The ills of riot and intemperate draughts, 

" Where the full goblet crowns the luscious feast : 

** Their only feast to graze the springing herb 

•' O'er the fresh lawn, or from the pendant bough 

*< To crop the savoury leaf, from the clear spring, 

♦* Or active stream refined in its course, 

" They slake their sober thirst, their sweet repose 

" Nor cares forbid, nor soothing arts invite, 

" But pure digestion breeds and light repast. 

" 'Twas then great Juno's altar ceas'd to smoke 
" With blood of bullocks, and the votive car 
*« With huge mis-shapen buffaloes was drawn 
'• To the high temples. Each one till'd his field, 
'' Each sow'd his acres with their owner's hand, 
*'* Or, bending to the yoke with straining neck, 
** Up the high steep dragg'd the slow load along. 
•' No more the wolf with crafty siege infests 
« The nightly fold ; more pressing cares than these 
** Engage the sly contriver and subdue. 
•' The fearful deer league with the hostile hound, 
•' And ply about the charitable door 
** Familiar, unannoy'd. The mighty deep 
•* At every mouth disgorg'd the scaly tribe, 
" And on the naked shore expos'd to view 
" The various wreck : the farthest rivers felt 
«» The vast discharge and swarm'd with monstrous shape?* 
« In vain the viper builds his mazy cell ; 
« Death follows him through all his wiles : in vain 
" The snake involves him deep beneath the flood, 
*< Wond'ring he starts, erects his scales and dies. 
•« The birds themselves confess the tainted air, 
«* Drop while on wing, and as they soar expire. 
«' Nought now avails the pasture fresh and new ; 
« Each art applied turns opposite ; e'en they, 
" Sage Chiron, sage Melampus, they despair, 
" Whilst pale Tisiphone, come fresh from hell, 
•< Driving before her Pestilence and Fear, 
« Her ministers of vengeance to fulfil 
«< Her di-ead commission, rages all abroad, 
« And lifts herself on ruin day by day 
« More and more high. The hollow banks resound, 
" The winding streams and hanging hills repeat 
" Loud groans from ev'ry herd, from ev'ry fold 
« Complaintive murmurs ; heaps on heaps they fall, 
i( There where they fall they lie, conupt and rot 
<' Within the lothsome stalls, fiU'd and dam'd up 
« With impure carcases, till they perform 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 39 

'< The necessary office and confine 

" Deep under ground the foul offensive stench : 

" For neither might you dress the putrid hide, 

'■' Nor could the purifying stream remove, 

" The vii;orous all-subduing flame expel 

" The close incorporate poison : none essayed 

" To shear the tainted fleece, or bind the w^ool, 

" For who e'er dar'd to cloath his desp'rate limbs 

" With that Nessean garment, a foul sweat, 

" A vile and lep'rous tetter Lark'd about 

" All his smooth body., nor long he endur'd, 

" But in the sacred tire consum'd and died." 

A great and heavy affliction now befel my parents and myself. 
A short time before my holidays in autumn my father and moth- 
er came to town, and brought my eldest sister Joanna with 
them, a very lovely girl, then in her seventeenth year. She 
caught the small-pox, and died in the house of the Reverend 
Doctor Cutts Barton, Rector of Saint Andrew's, Holborn, who 
kindly permitted my father to remove thither, when she sicken- 
ed with that cruel disease. She was truly most engaging in her 
person, and, though much admired, her manners were extremely 
modest, and her temper mild and gentle. When I first visited 
her, after the symptoms of the disease wer* upon her, she told 
me she was persuaded she had caught the small-pox, and that 
it would be fatal to her. Her augury was too true ; it was con- 
fluent, and assistance was in vain ; the regimen then followed 
was exactly contrary to the present improved method of treating 
that disease, which, w^hen it had kept her in torments for eleven 
days, having effectually destroyed her beauty, finally put an end 
to her life. My father, who tenderly loved her, submitted to 
the afflicting dispensation in silent sadness, never venting a com- 
plaint ; my mother's soitows were not under such controul, 
and as to me, devoted to her as I had been from my cradle, the 
shock appeared to threaten me with such consequences, that my 
father resolved upon taking me out of town imme4iately, and we 
went down to our abode at Stanwick, a sad and melancholy 
party, while Mr. Ashby, my father's nephew, staid in town and 
attended the body of his lamented cousin to the grave. My 
surviving sisters, Elizabeth and Mary, the elder of whom was 
six years younger than myself, had been left in the country ; the 
attennons, which these young creatures had a claim to, the con- 
solatory visits of our friends, and the healing hand of time by 
degrees assuaged the keenness of afliiction, and patient resigna- 
tion did the rest. 

The alarm, which my father had been under on account of 
my health upon my sister's death, and the abhoirence he had 
conceived of London since that unfortunate cvciit, detennined 
him against my return to Westminster, and though another 



40 MEMOIRS OF 

year, which my early age might well have dispensed with, was 
recommended by Doctor Nichols, and would most probably 
have been so employed with advantage to my education, yet the 
measure was taken, and, though only in my fourteenth year, I 
was admitted of Trinity College in Cambridge. There were yet 
some months of the vacation unexpired, and that I might pass 
this time at home with the more advantage, my father prevailed 
upon a neighbouring clergyman, the Reverend Mr. Thomas Strong, 
to reside with us and assist me in my studies. A better man I 
never knew, a brighter scholar might easily have been found, 
yet we read together some few hours in every day, and those 
readings were almost entirely confined to the Greek Testament : 
there I had a teacher in Mr. Strong well worthy of my best at- 
tention, for none could better recommend by practice what he 
illustrated by precept, than this exemplary young man. He 
sometime after married very happily, and i-esided on his living of 
Hargrave in our neighbourhood universally respected, and I trust 
it is not amongst my sins of omission ever after to have foi-got- 
ten his sen'ices, or failed in my attention to him. 

When the time came for me to commence my residence in 
College, my father accompanied me and put me under the care 
of the Reverend Doctor Morgan, an old friend of our family, 
and a senior fellow of that society. My rooms were closely ad- 
joining to his, belonging to that staircase which lead'.' to the 
chapel bell ; he was kind to me when we met, but as tutor I 
had few communications with him, for the gout afforded him 
not many intei-vals of ease, and with the exception of a few trif- 
ling readings in Tully's Oifices, by which I was little edified, 
and to which I pai<l little or no attention, he left me and one 
other pupil, my friend and intimate, Mr. William Rudd of Dur- 
ham, to choose and peruse our studies, as we saw fit. This de- 
reliction of us was inexcusable, for Rudd was a youth of fine 
talents and a well-grounded scholar. In the course of no long 
time, however. Doctor P.iorgan left college, and went to reside 
upon his living of Gainford, in the bishoprick of Durham, and I 
was turned over to the Reverend Doctor Philip Young, professor 
of oratory in the University, and afterwards Bishop of Norwich ; 
what Morgan made a very light concern. Young made an abso- 
lute sinecure, for from him I never received a single lecture, and 
I hope his lordship's conscience Avas not much disturbed on my 
account, for, though he gave me free leave to be idle, I did not 
make idleness my choice. 

In the last year of my being under graduate, when I com- 
menced Soph, in the very first act that was given out to be kept 
in the mathematical schools, I was appointed to an opponency, 
when at that time I had not read a single proposition in Euclid ; 
I had now been just turned over to Mr. Backhouse, the West- 
minster tutor, who gave regular lectures, and fulfilled the duties 
of his charge ably and conscientiously. Totally unprepared to 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 41 

answer the call now made upon me, and acquit myself in the 
schools, I resorted to him in my distress, and through his inter- 
ference my name was withdrawn from the act ; in the mean 
time I was sent for by the master, Doctor Smith, the learned au- 
thor of the well known Treatises upon Optics and Harmonics, 
and the worthy successor to my grandfather Bentley, who 
strongly reprobated the neglect of my former tutors, and recom- 
mended me to lose no more time in preparing myself for my de- 
gree, but to apply closely to my academical studies for the re- 
mainder of the year, which I assured him I would do. 

As I did not belong to iVIr. Backhouse till I had commenced 
Soph, but nominally to those, who left me to myself, I had hither- 
to pursued those studies that were familiar to me, and indulged 
my passion for the classics, with an ardour that rarely knew any 
intermission or relief. I certainly did not wantonly misuse my 
time, or yield to any even of the slightest excesses, that youth is 
prone to : I never frequented any tavern, neither gave nor received 
entertainments, nor partook in any parties of pleasure, except now 
and then in a ride to the hills, so that I thank God I have not to 
reproach myself with any instances of misconduct towards a gen- 
erous father, who at this tender age committed me to my own dis- 
cretion and confided in me. I look back therefore upon this period, 
of my life with a tranquil conscience ; I even dwell upon it with 
peculiar delight, for within those maternal walls I passed years 
given up to study and those intellectual pure enjoyments, which 
leave no self-reproach, whilst with the works of my ancestors in 
my hands, and the impression of their examples on my heart, I 
flattered myself in the belief that I was pressing forward ardently 
and successfully to follow them in their profession, and peradven- 
ture not fall far behind them in their fame. This was the great 
aim and object of my ambition ; for this I laboured, to this point 
I looked, and all my world was centered in my college. Every 
scene brought to my mind the pleasing recollection of times past, 
and filled it with the animating hope of times to come : as my 
college duties and attendances were occupations that I took pleas- 
ure in, punctuality and obedience did not put me to the trouble 
of an effort, for when to be employed is our amusement, there 
is no self-denial in not being idle. If I had then had a tutor, 
who would have systematized and arranged my studies, it 
would have been happy for me ; but I had no such director, 
and with my books before me, (poets, historians and philosophers) 
sate down as it were to a cj:na dubia, with an eager, rather than 
a discriminating, appetite ; I am now speaking of my course of 
reading from my admission to my commencing Soph, when I 
was called ofl:" to my academical studies. In that period my stock 
of books was but slender, till Doctor Richard Bentley had the 
goodness to give me a valuable parcel of my grandfather's books 
and papers, containing his coirespondence with many of the for- 
eign literati upon points of criticism, some letters from Sir Isaac 
D 2 



4; MEMOIRS OF 

Newton, a pretty large body of notes for an edition of Lucan'g 
Pharsalia, which I gave to my uncle Bentley, and were published 
under his inspection by Dodsley, at Mr. Walpole's press, with 
sundry other manuscripts, and a considerable number of Greek 
and Latin books, mostly collated by him, and their margins filled 
with alterations and corrections in his own hand, neatly and legi- 
bly written in a very small character. The possession of these 
books was most gratifying and acceptable to me ; some few of 
them were extremely rare, and in the history I have given in Thtt 
Obser'vers of the Greek writers, more particularly of the Comic 
Poets now lost, I have availed myself of them, and I am vain e- 
nough to believe no such collection of the scattered extracts, an- 
ecdotes and remains of those dramatists is any where else to be 
found. The donor of these books was the nephew of my grand- 
father, and inherited by will the whole of his library, which at his 
death was sold by auction in Leicestershire, where he resided in 
his latter years on his rectory of Nailstone : he was himself no in- 
considerable collector, and it is much to be regretted that his ex- 
ecutors took this method of disposing of his books, by which they 
became dispersed in small lots amongst many country purchas- 
ers, who probably did not know their value. He was an accu- 
rate collater, and for his judgment in editions much resorted to 
by Doctor Mead, with whom he lived in great intimacy. Dur- 
ing the time that he resided in college, for he was one of the sen- 
ior fellows of Trinity, he gave me every possible proof, not only 
in this instance of his donation, but in many others, of his favor 
and protection. 

At the same time Doctor Richard Walker, the friend of my 
grandfather, and vice-master of the college, never failed to dis- 
tinguish me by every kindness in his power. He frequently in- 
vited me to his rooms, which I had so often visited as a child, 
and which had the further merit with me as having been the resi- 
dence of Sir Isaac Newton, every relick of whose studies and ex- 
periments were respectfully preserved to the minutest particular, 
and pointed out to me by the good old vice-master with the most 
circum.stantial precision. He had many little anecdotes of my 
grandfather, which to me at least were interesting, and an old 
servant Deborah, whom he made a kind of companion.. and who 
was much in request for the many entertaining circumstances she 
could narrate of Sir Isaac Newton, when she waited upon him as 
his bedmaker, and also of Doctor Bentley, with whom she lived 
for several years after Sir Isaac left college, and at the death of my 
grandfather was passed over to Doctor Walker, in whose service 
she died. 

My mind in these happy days was so tranquil, and my time 
passed in so uniform a tenor of study and retirement, that though 
it is a period pleasing to me to reflect upon, yet it furnishes little 
that is wo^rthy to be recorded. I believe I hardly ever employed 
aiyseif Bpon English composition, except on the event of the 



RICHARD Cumberland; 43 

Prince of Wales's death, wlien amongst others I sent in my con- 
tribution of elegiac veises to the university volume, and very in- 
different ones they were. To my Latin declamations I paid my 
best attention, for these were recited publicly in the chapel after 
evening prayers on Saturdays, when it was open to all, who chose 
to resort thither, and we were generally flattered by pretty full au- 
diences. 

The year of trial now commenced, for which, through the neg- 
lect of my tutors, I was, as an academical student, totally unpre- 
pared. Determined to use every effort in my power for redeem- 
ing my lost time, I began a course of study so apportioned as to 
allow myself but six hours sleep, to which I strictly adhered, liv- 
ing almost entirely upon milk, and using the cold bath very fre- 
quently. As I was then only seventeen years old, and of a frame 
by no means robust, many of my friends remonstrated against the 
severity of this regimen, and recommended more moderation, but 
the encouragement I met in the rapidity of my progress through 
all the dry and elementary parts of my studies, determined me to 
persist with ardour, and made me deaf to their advice. In the 
several branches of the mechanics, hydrostatics, optics and as- 
tronomy, I consulted the best treatises, and made myself master 
of them ; I worked all propositions, formed all my minutes, and 
even my tliouehts, in Latin, whereby I acquired a faciiily of ex- 
pounding, solving a.nd arguing in that language, in which I may 
presume to say I had advantages, which some of the best of my 
contemporaries in our public disputations were but too sensi- 
ble of, for so long as my knowledge of a question could supply 
matter for argument, I never felt any want of terms for explan- 
ation. 

When I found myself prepared to take my part in the public 
schools, I thirsted for the opportunity, which I no longer dread- 
ed, and with this my ambition vras soon gratified, being appoint- 
ed to keep an att, and three respectable opponents singled out a- 
gainst m.e, the nrst of which v\ as looked up to as the best of the 
year. When his name was given out for disputation the schools 
never failed to be crowded, and as I had drawn my questions from 
Newton's Principia, I gave him fair scope for the display of his 
superiority, ard was by all considered, (for his fame was universal) 
as a mere child in his hands, justly to be punished for my temeri- 
ty, and self-Jevoted to complete confutation. I was not only a 
mere novice in the schools but also a perfect stranger to the gen- 
tleman opposed to me ; when therefore mounted on a bass in the 
rostrum, which even then I could scarcely overtop, I contemplat- 
ed, in the person of my antagonist, a North-country black-beard- 
ed philosopher, who at an advanced age had admitted at Saint 
John's to qualify for holy orders, (even at that time a finished 
mathematician and a private lecturer in those studies,) I did not 
wonder that the contrast of a beardless boy, pale and emaciated 
as I was then become, seemed to attract every body's curiosity ; 



44 MEMOIRS OF 

for afcer I had concluded my thesis, which precedes the disputa- 
tion, when he ascended his seat under the rostrum of the Moder- 
ator 

With grave 
Aspect he rose, and in his rising seem'd 
A pillar of strength ; deep in his front engraven 
Deliberation sate — sage he stood 
With Atlantean shoulders fit to hear 
The <weight of mightiest argument 

Formidable as he appeared, I did not feel my spirits sink, for 
I had taken a very careful survey of the ground I was upon, and 
thought myself prepared against any attack he could devise 
against me. I also saw that all advantages, resulting fi-om the 
unequal terms on which we engaged, wei^e on my side ; I might 
obtain glory from him, and he could but little profit by his tri- 
umph over me. My heart was in my cause, and proudly meas- 
uring its importance by the crowd it had collected, armed, as I 
believed myself to be, in the full understanding of my questions, 
and a perfect readiness in the language, in which our disputa- 
tions were to be carried on, I waited his attack amidst the hum 
and murmur of the assembly. His argument was purely mathe- 
matical, and so en\ eloped in the terms of his art, as made it 
somewhat diilicult for me to discover where his syllogism point- 
ed without those aids and delineations, which our process did 
not allow of ; I availed myself of my privilege to call for a rep- 
etition of it, when at once I caught the fallacy and pursued it 
with advantage, keeping the clue firm in hand till I completely 
traced him through all the \\'inding3 of his labyrinth. The 
same success attended me through the remaining seven argu- 
ments, which fell otf in strength and subtlety, and his defence 
became sullen and morose, his iatinity vt-ry harsh, inelegant and 
embanassed, till I saw him descend with no very pleasant coun- 
tenance, whilst it appeared evident to me that my whole audi- 
ence were not displeased with the unexpected turn, which our 
controversy had taken. He ought in course to have been suc- 
ceeded by a second and third opponent, but our disputation 
had already been prolonged beyond the time commonly allotted, 
and the schools were broken up by the Moderator with a com- 
pliment addressed to me in terms much out of the usual course 
on such occasions. 

If it is allowable for me to speak of such trifling events cir- 
cumstantially and with the importance, which at that time I at- 
tached to them, when I knew nothing of this great world be- 
yond the walls of my college, I hope this passage will be read 
with candour, and that I shall be pardoned for a long tale told 
in my old age of the first triumph of my youth, earned by ex- 
trenle hard labour, and gained at the risque and hazard of my 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 4* 

health by a perseverance in so severe a course of study, as 
brought me uitirnutely to the very brink of the grave. 

Four times I went through these scholastic exercises in the 
course of the year, keeping two acts and as many first opponen- 
cies. In one of the latter, where I was pitched against an inge- 
nious student of my own college, I contrived to form certain ar- 
guments, which by a scale of deductions so artfully drawn, and 
involving consequences, which by mathematical gradations (the 
premises being once granted) led to such unforeseen confutation, 
that even my tutor Mr. Backhouse, to whom I previously im- 
parted them, was eficctually trapped and could as little parry 
them, as the gentleman, who kept the act, or the Moderator, who 
tilled the chair. 

The last time I was called upon to keep an act in the schools 
I sent in three questioiis to the Moderator, which he withstood 
as being all mathematical, and required me to conform to the us- 
age of proposing one metaphysical question in the place of that, 
which I should think lit to withdraw. This was ground I never 
liked to take, aiid I appealed against his requisition : the act was 
accordingly put by till the matter of right should be ascertained 
by the statutes of the university, and in the result of that enqui- 
ry it was given for me, and my questions stood. This litigation 
between the Moderator and an lender-graduate, whose interest 
in the distribution of honors, at the ensuing degree laid so much 
at the mercy of his report, made a considerable stir and gave rise 
to much conversation ; so that when this long suspended act 
took place, not only the floor of the schools was filled with the 
juniors, but many of high standing in the university assembled in 
the gallery. The Moderator had nominated the same gentleman 
as my first opponent, who no doubt felt every motive to renevw 
the contest, and bring me to a proper sense of my presumption. 
The term was now drawing near to its clos?, and I began to feel 
very sensibly the effects of my too intense application, my whole 
frame being debilitated in a manner, that warned me I had not 
long to continue my course of labour without the interruption 
of some serious attack ; I had in fact the seeds of a rheumatic fe- 
ver lurking in my constitution, and v/as led between two of my 
friends and fellow collegians to the schools in a very feeble state. 
I was, however, intellectually alive to all the purposes of the bus- 
iness we were upon, and when I observed that the Moderator 
exhibited symptcm.s of indisposition by resting his head upon the 
cushion on his desk, I cut short rny thesis to make way for my 
opponent, who had hardly brought his argument to bear, when 
the Moderator, on the plea of sudden indisposition, dismissed me 
with a speech, which, though tinctured v.'ith some petulance, 
had more of praise in it than I expecied to receive. 

I yielded now to advice, and paid attention to my health, till 
we were cited to the senate house to be examined for our Bach- 
elor's degree. It was hardly ever my lot during that cxamina- 



46 MEMOIRS OF 

tion to enjoy any respite. I seemed an object singled out as ev- 
ery man's mark, and was kept perpetually at the table under the 
process of question and answer. My constitution just held me 
up to the expiration of the scrutiny, and I immediately hastened 
to my own home to alami my parents with my ghastly looks, 
and soon fell ill of a rheumatic fever, which for the space of six 
months kept me hovering between life and death. The skill of 
my physician, the aforementioned Doctor Wallis of Stamford, 
and the tender attention of the dear friends about me, rescued 
me at length, and I recovered under tlieir care. Whilst I was in 
this state I had the pleasure of hearing from Cambridge of the 
high station, which had been adjudged to me amongst The 
IVranglers of my year, and I further underf^tood how much I was 
indebted to the generous support of that very Moderator, whom 
I had thwarted in the matter of my questions, for this adjudica- 
tion so much in m.y favour and perhaps above my merits, for my 
knowledge had been hastily attained : a conduct so candid on 
the part of the Reverend Mr. Ray, (fellow of Corpus Christi, and 
the- Moderator, of whom I have been speaking) was ever remem- 
bered by me with gratitude and respect : Mr. Ray was afterwards 
domestic chaplain to the Archbishop of Canterbury, and, when 
I was resident in town, I wailed upon him at Lambeth palace, to 
express my sensibility of the very liberal manner, in which he had 
protected me. 

I now found myself in a station of ease and credit in my native 
college, to which I was attached by every tye, that could endear 
it to me. I had changed my Under-graduate's gown, and obtain- 
ed my degree of Bachelor of Arts with honors hardly earned by 
pains the more severe because so long postponed : and now if I 
have been seemingly too elaborate in tracing my own particular 
progress through these exercises, to which the candidate for a de- 
gree at Cambridge must of necessity conform, it is not merely be- 
cause I can quote my privilege for my excuse, but because 
I would most earnestly impress upon the attention of my 
reader the extreme usefulness of these academical exercises and 
the studies appertaining to them, by which I consider all the pur- 
poses of an university education are completed ; and so convinc- 
ed am I of this, that I can hardly allow myself to call that an ed- 
ucation, of which they do not make a part ; if therefore I am to 
speak for the discipline of the schools, ought I not first to show 
that I am speaking from experience, without which opinions pass 
for nothing i* Having therefore first demonstrated what my ex- 
perience of that discipline has been, I have the authority of that, as 
far as it goes, for an opinion in its favour, which every observa- 
tion of my life has since contributed to establish and confirm. 
What more can any system of education liold out to those, who 
are the objects of it, than public honours to distinguish merit, 
public exercises to awaken emulation, and public examinations, 
which cannot be passed witliout extorting some exertion even 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 4'r 

from the indolent, nor can be avoided without a marked disgrace 
to the compounder ? Now if I have any knowledge of tne worid, 
any insight iiito the minds and characters of those, whom I have 
had opportunities of knowing, (and few have lived more and long- 
er amongst mankind) aU my obser/ations tend to convince me 
that there is no profession, no art, no station or condition \n life, 
to w^hich the studies I have been speaking of wilj not apply and 
come in aid with profit and advantage. That mode of investi- 
gation step by step, which crowns tiie process of the student by 
the demonstration and discovery of positive and mathematical 
truth, must of necessity so exercise and train 1 im in the habits of 
following up his subject, be it what it may, and working out his 
proofs, as cannot fail to find their uses, whether he, who has them, 
dictates from the pulpit, argues at the bar or declaims in the sen- 
ate ; nay, there is no lot, no station, (I repeat it with confidence) 
be it either social or sequestered, conspicuous or obscure, profes- 
sional or idly independent, in which the man, once exercised in 
these studies, though he shall afterwards neglect them, will not 
to his comfort experience some mental powers and resources, in 
which their influence shall be felt, though the channels, that con- 
ducted it, may from disuse have become obscure, and no longer 
to be traced. 

Hear the crude opinions, that are let loose upon society in our 
table conversations ; mark the wild and wandering arguments, 
that are launched at random without ever hitting the mark they 
should be levelled at ; what does all this noise and nonsense 
prove, but that the talker has indeed acquired the fluency of 
words, but never known the exercise of thought, or attended 
to the developement of a single proposition ? Tell him that he 
ought to hear what may be said on the other side of the ques- 
tion — he agrees to it, and either begs leave to wind up with a 
few words more, which he winds and wire-draws without end ; 
or having paused to hear, hears wath impatience a very little, 
foreknows every thing you had further to say, cuts short your 
argument and bolts in upon you — with an answer to that argu- 
ment — ? No ; with a continuation of his own gabble, and, hav- 
ing stifled you with the torrent of his trash, places your con- 
tempt to the credit of his own capacity, and foolishly conceives 
he talks with reason because he has not patience to attend to 
any reasoning but his own. 

What are all the quirks and quibbles, that skimiishers in con- 
troversy catch hold of to escape the point of any argument, 
when pressed upon them ? If a laugh, a jeer, ahitof mimickry, 
or buffoonery cannot parry the attack, they find themselves dis- 
armed of the only weapons they can wield, and then, though 
truth should stare them in the face, they will affect not to see 
it : instead of receiving conviction as the acquirement of some- 
thing, which they had not themselves, and have gained from 
you, they regard it as an insult to their understandings, and 



48 MEMOIRS OF 

grow sullen and resentful ; they will then teli you they shall 
leave you to your own opinions, they shall say no more, and 
with an air of importance wrap themselves up in a kind of con- 
temptuous inditference, when their reason for saying nothing is 
only because they have nothing more to say. How many of 
this cast of character are to be met with in the world every man 
of the world can witness. 

There are also others, whose vivacity of imagination having 
never felt the trammels of a syllogism is for ever flying off into 
digression and display — 

Quo teneam nodo niutantem Proiea formas P — • 

To attempt at hedging in these cuckows is but lost labour. 
These gentlemen are very entertaining as long as novelties with 
no meaning can entertain you ; they have a great variety of opin- 
ions, which, if you oppose, they do not defend, and if you agree 
with, they desert. Their talk is like the wild notes of birds, 
amongst which you shall distinguish some of pleasant tone, but 
out of which you compose no tune or harmony of song. These 
men would have set down Archimides for a fool when he danced 
for joy at the solution of a proposition, and mistaken Newton 
foi- a madman, when in the surplice, which he put on for chap- 
el over night, he was found the next morning in the same place 
and posture fixed in profound meditation on his theory of the 
prismatic colours. So great is their distate for demonstration, 
they think no truth is worth the waiting for ; the mountain must 
come to them, they are not by half so complaisant as Mahomet. 
They are not easily reconciled to truisms, but have no particular 
objection to impossibilities. For argument they have no ear ; it 
does not touch them ; it fetters fancy, and dulls the edge of re- 
partee ; if by chance they find themselves in an untenable posi- 
tion, and wit is not at hand to help them out of it, they will 
take up with a pun, and ride home upon a horse laugh : if they 
can't keep their ground, they vi'on't wait to be attacked and 
driven out of it. Whilst a reasoning man will be picking his 
way out of a dilemma, they, who never reason at all, jump over 
it, and land themselves at once upon new ground, where they 
take an imposing attitude, and escape pursuit. Whatever these 
men do, whether they talk, or write, or act, it is without de- 
liberation, without consistency, without plan. Having no ex- 
panse of mind, they can comprehend only in part ; they will 
promise an epic poem, and produce an epigram : In short, they 
glitter, pass away and are forgotten ; their outset makes a 
show of mighty things, they stray out of their course into 
bye-ways and obliquities, and when out of sight of their con- 
temporaries, are for ever lost to posterity. 

When characters of this sort come under our observation it is 
easy to discover that their levities and frivolities have their source 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 49 

in the errors and defects of education, for it is evident they have 
not been trained in any principles of riglit-reasoning. Therefore 
it is that I hold in such esteem the academical studies pursued 
at Cambridge, and regard their exercises in the mathematical 
schools, and their examinations in the theatre, as forming the 
best s)Stem, which this country offers, for the education of its 
youth. Persuaded as I am of this, I must confess I have ever 
considered the election of scholars from the college of Eton to 
that of King's in Cambridge, as a bar greatly in their disfavour, 
forasmuch as by the constitution of that college they are not 
subjected to the same process for attaining their degrees, and 
of course the study of the mathematics makes no part of their 
system, but is merely optional. I leave this remark to those, 
who may think it worthy of their consideration. Under-grad- 
uates of Trinity College, whether elected fi-om Westminster or 
not, have no such exemptions. 

Having now, at an age more than commonly early, obtained 
my Bachelor's degree, with the return of health I resumed my 
studies, and without neglecting those I had so lately been en- 
gaged in, again took up those authors, who had lain by un- 
touched for a whole tv/elvemonth. I supposed my line in life 
was decided for the church, the profession of my ancestors, 
and in the course of three years I had good reason to expect a 
fellowship with the degree of Master of Arts. These views, 
so suited to my natural disposition, were now before me, and 
I dwelt upon them with entire content. 

Having now been in the habit of reading upon system, I re- 
solved to put my thoughts together upon paper, and began to 
form a kind of Collectanea of my studies. With this wiew I 
got together all the tracts relative to the controvei-sy between 
Boyle and Bentley, omitting none even of the authorities and 
passages they referred to, and having done this, I compressed the 
reasonings on both sides into a kind of statement and report 
upon the question in dispute, and if in the result my judgment 
went with him, to whom my inclination leant, no learned crit- 
ic of the present age will condemn me for the decision. 

When I had accomplished this, I meditated on a plan little 
short of what might be projected for an Universal History, or 
at least for that of the Great Empires in particular. For this 
purpose I began with studying the Sanchoniatho of Bishop 
Cumberland, contrasting the Phoenician and Egyptian Cos- 
mogonies with that of Moses, by which I found myself at 
length involved in references to so many authors, which I had 
no means of consulting, and so hampered by Oriental lan- 
guages, which I did not understand, that after filling a large 
folio foul-book, which I still keep in possession, I gave up the 
task, or more properly speaking reduced it to a more contract- 
ed scale, in which, however, I contrived to review all the sev- 
eral system* gi th.e Heathen Philosophers, and discuss at large 
£ 



oi) MEMOIRS OF 

the tenets and opinions maintained and professed by their re= 
spective scliools and academies. This was a work of labour 
and considerable research, and having had lately occasion to 
resort to it for certain purposes, which I have in hand, I must 
do myself the justice to say I found it very accurate, and de- 
rived all the aid and information from it that I expected or re- 
quired. That I was at that age disposed and able to apply my 
mind to a work so operose and argumentative I ascribe entirely 
to the nature of the studies, and the habitudes of thinking, I 
had so recently been engaged in. 

Thus, after wandering at large for a considerable time with- 
out any one to guide me, I was at last compelled to chalk out 
for myself a settled plan of reading, which, if I had not been 
disciplined as above described, I ceitainly should have long 
postponed, or perhaps never have struck out. Why will not 
those, whose duty it is to superintend the education of their pu- 
pils in our universities, when they discover talents and a thirst 
for learning, point out to the student the best and nearest road 
to its attainment ? It is sui'cly within their province to do it, 
and the benefit would be incalculable. 

I well remember when I was newly come to college, with 
what avidity I read the Greek tragedians, and with what rever- 
ence I swallowed the absurdities of their chorus, and was big- 
oted to their cold character and rigid unities ; and when Mason 
of Pembroke-Hall published his Elfrida after their model, 
though I did not quite agree with him as to his choice of plot, 
or the perfect legitimacy of liis chorus, yet I was warm in my 
praises of that generally-admired production, and in imitation 
of it planned and composed an entire drama, of which Charac- 
tacus was the hero, Vv ith Bards and Druids attached to it as a 
chorus, for whom I wrote O.les in the manner of Elfrida ; I 
have this manuscript now in my possession, and it is flattering 
to my choice of subject that Mason, with whom I had no coni» 
munication or corre.'^pondence, should afterwards strike upon 
the same character for the hero of his drama : but though in 
this particular I have the good chance to agree with him, in 
point of plot I strayed equally from him and fi-om the history, 
for not writing with any thouglit of publication, I. wove into 
my drama some characters and several incidents perfectly ficti- 
tious : there is a good deal of fancy and some strong writing in 
it, but as a whole it must be read with allowances, and I shall 
therefore pass it over, not wishing to make too many demands 
upon the candour of the reader. 

Whilst I was thus living with my family at Stanwick in the 
enjoyment of every thing that could constitute my felicity, a 
strong contest took place upon the approach of the general e* 
lection, and the county of Northampton was hotly canvassed 
by the rival parties of Knightly and Hanbury, or in other words 
by the Tories and the Whigs. My father, wjiose politics ac* 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 51 

corded with the latter, was drawn out upon this occasion, and 
gave a very active and effectual support to his party, and 
though the cause he embarked in was unsuccessful, yet his par- 
ticular exertions had been such, that he might truly have said— 

Si PiTjama dextrd 
Difcndi posseni-, ci'tam bac defemi fuissent. 

This second striking instance of his popularity and influence 
was by no means overlooked by the Earl of Halifiix, then high 
in office and Lord Lieutenant of the county. Offers, which he 
did not court, were pressed upon hiin, but though he was reso- 
lutein declining all favours personal to himself, yet he was per- 
suaded to lend an ear to flattering situations pointed out for me, 
and my destiny was now preparing to reverse those tranquil and 
delectable scenes, which I had hitherto enjoyed, and to trans- 
plant me from the cloisters of my college, and free range of my 
studies,, to the desk of a private secretary, and the irksome pain- 
ful restraints of dependence. 

Let me not by my statement of this event appear to lay any 
thing to the charge of my ever dear and honoured fath.er ; if I 
were unnaturally disposed to find a fault in his proceeding upon 
this occasion, I must search for it amongst his virtues ; he was 
open, warm and unsuspecting ; apt to credit others for what 
was natural to himself, ever inclined to look only on the best side 
of m.en and things, and certainly not one of the children of this 
world. If I have cause to regret this departure from the line, 
in which by education I had been trained, I am the author of 
my own misfortune ; I was perfectly a free agent, and have no- 
body but myself to accuse. My youth, however, and the still 
unsettled state of my health spared me for a time, and my fa- 
ther proposed an excursion to the city of York, for the double 
purpose of my relaxation and my sisters' accomplishments in 
music and dancing. We had a near relation living there, a wid- 
ow lady, niece to Doctor Bentley, who accommodated us 
with her house, and we passed half a year in the society and a- 
musements of the place. This lady Forster by name, and first 
cousin to my mother, was a woman of superior understanding ; 
her opinions were pronounced authoritatively and without re- 
spect of person ; they were considered in York' as little less than 
oracular. The style of living in this place was so new to me 
and out of character, when contrasted by the habits of study 
and retirement, which I had been accustomied to, that it seem- 
ed to enfeeble and depress that portion of genius, which nature 
had endowed me with ; I hunted in the mornings, danced in the 
evenings, and devoted but a small portion of my time to any 
thing that deserved the name of study. I had no books of my 
own, and unfortunately got engaged with Spenser's Fairy 
Queen, in imitation of which I began to string nonsensical stan- 



S2 MEMOIRS OF 

zas to the same rhyming kind of measure. Though I trust 1 
should not have surrendered myself for any length of time to 
this jingling strain of obsolete versification, yet I am indebted 
to my mother for the seasonable contempt she threw upon my 
imitations, felt the force of her reproof, and laid the Fairy 
Queen upon its shelf. 

The Earl of Galloway, father of the present Lord, was then 
residing at York with his family ; a beautiful copy of elegiac 
verses, the composition of his daughter. Lady Susan, was com- 
municated to me, of which the hint seemed to be taken ft-om 
Hamlet's meditations on the skull of Yorick. I do not feel 
myself at liberty to publish the elegant poem of that lady, who 
lived to grace the high station which by her birth, virtues and 
endowments she was entitled to, and when I now venture to 
insert my own, I am fully conscious how ill it would endure a 
comparison with that, which gave occasion to it — 

" True ! We must all be chang'd by death, 
♦* Such is the form the dead must wear, 
" And so, when Beauty yields its breath, 
•' So shall the fairest face appear. 

" But let thy soul survey the grace, 
" That yet adorns its frail abode, 
" And through the wondrous fabric trace 
'• The hand of an unerring God. 

" Why does the blood in stated round 
«* Its vital warmth throughout dispense ? 
" Who tun'd the ear to every sound, 
" And lent the hand its ready sense ? 

« Whence had the eyes that subtle force, 
" That languor, they by turns display ? 
" Who hung the lips with prompt discourse, 
<' And tun'd the soft melodious lay ? 

" What but thy Maker's image there 
" In each external part is seen ? 
" But 'tis thy better part to wear 
*« His image pictur'd best within. 

" Else what avail 'd the raptur'd strain, 
" Did not the mind her aid impart, 
" The melting eye would speak in vain, 
*« Flow'd not its language from the heart. 

« The blood with stated pace had crept 
« Along the dull and sluggish veins, 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 53 

« The ear insensibly had slept, 

" Though angels sung in choicest strains. 

« It is that spark of quick'ning fire, 
" To every child of nature giv'n, 
" That either kindles wild desire, 
" Or lights us on the road to heav'n. 

*< That spark, if Virtue keeps it bright, 
" And Genius fans it into flame, 
" Aspiring mounts, and in its flight, 
" Soars far above this earthly fi-ame. 

" Strong and expansive in its view, 
" It tow'rs amidst the boundless sky, 
*' Sees planets other orbs pursue, 
*' Whose systems other suns supply. 

*' Such Newton was, diffusing far 

" His radiant beams ; such Cotes had been, 

" This a bright comet ; that a star, 

" Which glitter'd and no more was seen. 

" Blush then if thou hast sense of shame, 
" Inglorious, ign'rant, impious slave ! 
" Who think'st this heav'n-created frame 
" Shall basely perish in the grave. 

" False as thou art, dar'st thou suggest 
" That thy Creator is unjust ? 
" Wilt thou the truth with Him contest, 
•' Whose wisdom form'd thee of the dust ? 

" Say, dotard, hath he idly wrought, 
" Or are his works to be believ'd ? 
" Speak, is the whole creation nought ? 
*• Mortal, is God or thou deceiv'd i 

" Thy harden'd spirit, convict at last, 
" Its damning error shall perceive, 
" Speechless shall hear its sentence past, 
'* Condemn'd to tremble and believ^. 

" But thou in reason's sober light 
*"' Death clad with terror can'st survey, 
'* And from the foul and ghastly sight 
** Derive the pure and moral lay. 

♦« Go on, sweet Nymph, and when thy Muse 
*' Visits the dark and dreary tomb, 
E 2 



54 MEMOIRS OF 

" Bright-rob'd Religion shall diffuse 
•' Her radiance, and dispel the gloom. 

" And when the necessary day 

" Shall call thee to thy saving God, 

" Secure thou'lt choose that better way, 

" Which Conscience points and Saints have trod. 

" So shall thy soul at length forsake 
" The fairest form e'er soul receiv'd 
" Of those rich blessings to partake, 
" Which eye ne'er saw, nor heart conceiv'i 

*< There, 'midst the full angelic throng, 
•' Praise Him, who those rich blessings gave, 
" There shall resume the grateful song, 
" A joyful victor o'er the grave." 

This excursion to York was indeed a relaxation, but not al- 
together of a sort, that either suited my ease, or accorded v/ith 
my taste. Certain it is I had for a time impaired my health by 
too much application and the over-abstemious habits I imposed 
upon myself during my last year at college, but tranquillity not 
dissipation, or what is called amusement, was the restorative I 
most needed. The allurements of public assemblies and the so- 
ciety of those, who resort to them, foiTn so great a contrast to 
the occupations of a student, that instead of being enlivened by 
the change, I felt a lassitude of mind, that put me out of hu- 
mour with myself, and damped that ardent spirit of acquire- 
ment, which in my nature seemed to have been its ruling pas- 
sion. Extremes of any sort are dangerous to youthful minds, 
and should be studiously avoided. The termination of our vis- 
it to York, and the prospect of returning to college were wel- 
comed by me most cordially. I had brought no books with 
me to York, and of course had nothing to call off my mind 
from the listless idle style, in which I dangled away my time, 
amusing myself only now and then with my pen, because my 
fancy would not be totally unemployed ; sometimes, as J have 
before related, imitating Spenser's style, and at other times 
composing short elegies after the manner of Hamm.ond ; for 
this, when I was reprimanded by the same judicious monitress, 
who rallied me out of my imitations of the stanzas of The Fai- 
ry Queen, I promised her I would write no more love elegies, 
and took leave of Hammond with the following lines, writtea 
almost extempore — 

" When wise men love they love to folly, 
" When blockheads love they're melancholy, 
" When coxcombs love, they love for fashion, 
•' And quaintly caU it the belle passion. 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 5o 

«* Old batchelors, who wear the willow, 
•' May dream of love and hug the pillow, 
♦« Whilst love, in poet's fancy rhyming, 
" Sets all the bells of folly chiming. 

" But women, charming women, prove 
" The sweet varieties of love, 
" They can love all, but none too dearly, 
" Their husbands too, but not sincerely. 

" They'll love a thing, whose outward shapt^ 
" Marks him twin brother to an ape ; 
" They'll take a miser for his riches, 
" And wed a beggar without breeches. 

" Marry, as if in love with ruin, 
" A gamester to their sure undoing, 
" A drunkard laving, swearing, storming, 
** For the dear pleasure of reforming, 

" They'll wed a lord, whose breath shall falter 

" Whilst he is crawling from the altar : 

" What is there v>-omen will not do, 

" When they love man and money too ?" 

These and numerous trifles of the like sort, not worth re- 
cording, amused my vacant hours at York, but when I return- 
ed hom.e, I made a very short stay and hastened to college, 
where I was soon invited to the master's lodge by Doctor 
Smith, who was pleased to honour me v.nth his approbation of 
my past exertions, and imparted to me a new arragement, that 
he and the seniors had determined upon for annulling so much 
of the existing statutes as restricted all Bachelor of Arts, ex- 
cept those of the third year's standing, from offering themselves 
candidates for fellowships : when he had signified this to me, 
he kindly added, that as I should be in the second year of my 
degree at the next election, he recom.mended it to me by all 
means to present myself for examination, and to take my 
chance. This was a communication so flattering, that I knew 
not how to shape the answer, which he seemed to expect from 
me ; I clearly saw that his meaning was to bring me into the 
society a year before any one had been elected since the stat- 
utes were in existence ; I knew that by my election there must 
be an exclusion of some candidate ofthe year above me, who had 
only a single chance, whereas I had a double one ; in the mean 
time my circumstances were such as not to want the emolu- 
ments of a fellowship, and my age such as might well admit of 
a postponement. These were my reflections at that time, and 
I felt the force of them, but the regulation was gone forth, and 



S& MEMOIRS OP 

there were others of my own year, who had announced their 
resolution of coming forward as candidates at the time of the 
election. There was no part therefore for me to take but to pre- 
pare myself for the examination and expect the result. TothisI 
looked forward with much more terror and alarm, than to all I 
had experienced in the schools and theatre, for I not only stood 
jn awe of the master of Trinity, as being the deepest mathema- 
tician of his time, but as I had reason to believe he had been led 
to lay open the election in some degree on my account, I appre- 
hended he would never suffer his partiality to single me out to 
the exclusion of any other without strict scrutiny into my pre- 
tensions, and as I had obtained a high honour when I took my 
degree, I greatly feared he might expect too much, and meet 
with disappointment. 

Under these impressions, whilst I was preparing to resume 
my studies with increased attention, and repair the time not 
profitably past of late, I received a summons, which opened to 
me a new scene of life. I was called for by Lord Halifax to as- 
sume the situation of his private confidential secretary : it was 
considered by my family and the friends and advisers of 
my family, as an offer, upon which there could be no hesita^ 
tion. They took the question as it struck them in their view 
of it, they could not look into futurity, neither could they take 
a perfect estimate either of my fitness for the situation held out 
to me, or of the eventual value of the situation, from which I 
was about to be dibplaced. What the prosecution of my stud- 
ies might have led me to in that line of life, to which I had di^ 
rected my attention, and fixed my attachment, is a matter of 
speculation and conjecture ; what I might have avoided is now 
become matter of experience, and I can only say that had ce\> 
tain passages of my past life been then stated to me as proba- 
bilities to occur, I would have stuck to my college, and endeav- 
oured to have trodden in the steps of my ancestors. 

I was not fitted for dependence ; my nature was lepugnant 
to it ; I was most fortunately formed with feelings, that could 
ill endure the assumed importance of some, or submit to take 
advantage of ihq weakness of others, I had ambition e^ 
nough, and it may be more than enough ; but it was the ambi- 
tion of v/orking out my own way by the labours of my mind, 
and raising to myself a character upon a foundation of my own 
laying. I certainly do not offend against truth when I say I had 
an ardent wish to earn a name in literature : I had studied 
books : I had not studied men, and perhaps I was too much, 
disposed to measure my respect for their characters by the 
standard of their talents. I had no acquaintance with the noble 
Lord, who now invited me to share his confidence, and receive 
my destiny from his hands. My good father did what was per- 
fectly natural for a father to do in the like circumstances, he a- 
v^iled himself of the opportunity for placing me vender the pat,- 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 57 

ronage of one of the most figuring and rising men of his time. 
There was som<:*thing extremely hriiliant and more than com- 
monly engaging in the person, manners and address of the Earl 
of Halifax. He had been educated at Eton, and came with the 
reputation of a good sc'iolar to Trinity College, where he es- 
tablished himself in the good opinion of the whole society, not 
only by his orderly and regular conduct, but in a very distin- 
guished manner by the attention which he paid to his ;'tudies, 
and the proofs he gave in his public exercises of his classical 
acquirements. He was certainly, when compared with men of 
his condition, to be distinguished as a scholar much above the 
common mark : he quoted well and copiously from the best 
authors, chiefly Horace ; he was very fond of English poetry, and 
recited it very emphatically after the manner of Quin, who had 
been his master in that art : he had a partiality for Prior, which 
he seemed to inherit from the celebrated Lord Halifax, and 
would rehearse long passages from his Solomon, and Henry 
end Emma, with the whole of his verses, beginning with Sincere 
e/j te/I me — and these he would set off with a great display of 
action, and in a style of declamation more than sufficiently the- 
atrical. He was man-ied to a virtuous and exemplary lady, who 
brought him a con.-idcrable fortune, and fiom whom he took 
the name of Dunk, and was made a freeman of London to entitle 
him to marry in conformity to the conditions of her father's 
will. His fimiiy, when I came to him, consisted of this lady, 
with Avhom he lived in great domestic harmony, and three 
daughters ; there was an elderly clergyman of the name of 
Crane, an inmate also, who had been his tutor, and to whom he 
was most entirely attached. A better guide and a more faithful 
consellor he could not have, for amongst all the m.en it has been 
my chance to know, I do not think I have known a calmer, 
wiser, more right-headed man ; in the ways of the world, the 
politics of the time and the characters of those, who were in 
the public management and responsibility of affairs. Doctor 
Crane was incomparably the best bteersman, that his pupil could 
take his course from, and so long as he submitted to his tem- 
perate guidance he could hardly go astray. The opinions of 
Doctor Crane were upon all points decisive, because in the first 
place they were always withheld till extorted from him by ap- 
peal, and secondly, because they never failed to cany home con- 
viction of the prudence and sound judgment they were found- 
ed upon. 

This was the state of the family to which I was now intro- 
duced. In the lord of the house I contemplated a man regular 
in his duties, temperate in his habits, and a strict observer of 
decorum : in the lady a woman, in whom no fault or even foible 
could be discovered, mild, prudent, unpretending : in the tutor 
a character not easy to develop, or rightly and con-ectly to ap» 
preciate, for whilst his qualities commanded respect, the dry- 



S6 MEMOIRS OF 

ness of his external repulsed familiarity ; in short I set him 
down as a man of a clear head and a cold heart : the daughters 
were children of the nursery. 

I went to town attended by a steady and intelligent servant 
of my father's ; this person, Anthony Fletcher by name, who 
then wore a livery, has since, by a series of good conduct and 
good fortune, e^tabli■•hed himself in an affluent and creditable 
situation at Bath, where he still live? in a very advanced age in 
the Crescent, well known and universally respected. Lord 
Halifax's house v/as in CJrosvenor-Square, but I found lodgings 
taken for me by his order in Downing-strcet, for the purpose, 
as I understood, of my being near Mr. John Pownall, then 
acting secretary to the Board of Trade, at which it was Lord 
Halifax's office to preside. This gentleman was to give me the 
necessary instructions for my obtaining some insight into the 
nature of the business, likely to devolve upon me. My location 
was certainly very well pitched for those communications, for 
Mr. Pov^nall lodged and boarded at a house in the same street, 
and with him I was to mess when not invited out. 

The morning after my arrival I waited on this gentleman at 
his office in Whitehall, and was received by him with all possible 
politeness, but in a style of such cei-emony and form as I was 
little used to, and not much delighted with. How many young 
men at my time of life would have embraced this situation with 
rapture ! The whole town indeed wat^ before me, but it had not 
for me either friend or relation, to whom 1 could resort for com= 
fort or for counsel. With a head filled with Greek and Latin, 
and a heart left behind me in my college, I was completely out 
of my element. I saw myself unlike the people about me, and 
was emban"assed in circles, which according to the inanners of 
those days were not to be approached without a set of ceremo- 
nies and manoeuvres, not very pleasant to perform, and, when 
awkwardly performed, not very edifying to behold. In these 
graces Lord Halifax was a model ; his address was noble and 
impressive ; he could never be mistaken for less than he was, 
whilst his official secretary Pownallj who egregiously over-act- 
ed his imitations of him, could as little be mistaken for more 
than he was. In the world, which I now belonged to, I heard 
very little, except now and then a quotation fi-om Lord Halifax, 
that in any degree interested me ; there were talkers however, 
who would take possession of a subject as a highwayman does 
of a purse, without knowing what it contained, or caring whom 
it belonged to ; many of these gentlemen had doubtless found 
that ignorance had been no obstacle to their advancement, and 
now they seemed resolved it should be no bar to their assurance. 
I found there was a polite as well as a political glossary, which 
involved mysteries little less obscure than those, which are 
couched under the hieroglyphics of Egypt, and I perceived that 
vvhosoever had the ready use and apt application of those pass=> 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. §9 

words, wa; by right looked up to as the best bred and best in- 
formed man in the company : when a single word can comprise 
the matter of a whole volume, those wortliy gentlemen have a 
very sufficient plea for not wasting their time upon reading. I 
have lived long enough to witness such aniazing feats performed 
by impudence, that I much wonder why modest men will allow 
themselves to be found in societies, where they are condemned to 
be annoyed by talker-, who turn all things up:^ide down, whilbt 
they arc not permitted to utter that, which would ^.et them right. 
When it was my cliance to dine at our boarding-house table 
with the .-iforomentioned bub-occretary, I contemplated witii sur- 
prise the importance of his air, and the dignity that secrned at- 
tached t<) his official ^ituation. The good woman of the house, 
who wa^ at once our provider and our president, regularly ad- 
dressed him by the name of statec^man, and in her dii^tribution of 
the joint shewed something more than an impartial attention to 
his plate. If he knew any state*secrets, I will do him the jus- 
tice to say that he never disclosed them ; and if he talked qjjit/j 
ministers and great nobles as he talked q/them, I will venture to 
say he was extremely familiar with them ; and I cannot doubt 
but that this was the case ; for if he was thus high with his 
equals, it surely behoved him to be much higher with those who 
but for such self-spelling altitudes might stand a chance to pass 
for his superiors. He had a brother in the guards, a very amia- 
ble m.an, and with him I formed a friendship. Having been told 
to inform myself about the colonies, and sliewn some folio books 
of formidable contents, I began more >?2eo with the discoverers of 
America, and proceeded to travel through a mass of voyage;, 
which furnished here and there some plots for tragedies, 
dumb shows and dances , as they have since done, but in point 
of information applicable to the then-existing state of the colo- 
nies, were most discouragingly meagre, and most oppressively 
tedious in communicating nothing. I got a summary but suf- 
ficient insight into the constitutions of the respective provinces, 
for what was worth knowing was soon learnt, and when I found 
that my whole employment in Gro-^venor-Scjuare consisted in 
copying a few private letters to governors and civil officers 
abroad, I applied my thoughts to other objects, and particularly 
to the approaching election at my college ; still London lodg- 
ings and London hours were not quite so well adapted to study 
as I could have wished, though I changed my situation for the 
better when I removed to an apartment, which was taken for 
me in Mount-Street, within a very short walk of Lord Halifax's 
house, where I attended for lii commands every morning, and 
dined twice or thrice in the weeki One day he took me with 
him to Newcastle Hou»e, in Lincoln's Inn Fields, for the pur- 
pose of presenting me to the duke, then prime minister: his 
lordship was admitted without delay ; I waited two hours for 
my audience, and was then dismissed in two minutes, whilst his 



60 MEMCmS OF 

gr3C^, stript to his shirt, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, 
waL^ washing his havuis. 

The lec sstook place at the visual time, when Lord Halifax 
left town and went lo Horton in Northampionshire ; I accom- 
panied him thilher, and from thence went to Cambridge ; he 
seemed interested in my undertaking, and offered m.e letters of 
recomimendation, which with due acknowledgments I declined. 
On my arrival I found Doctor Richard Bentley had come from 
his living of Nailstone in Leicestershire, purposely to support 
my cause ; the vice-master also welcomed rne with his accus- 
tomed cordiality, and I found the candidates of both years had 
turned out strong for the contest. There were six vacancies, 
and six candidates of the year above me ; of these Spencer Ma- 
dan, now Bishop of Peterborough, was as senior M^estminster 
secure of his election, and such was his merit, independent of 
any other claim, that it would have been impossible to pass him 
over. He was a young man of elegant accomplishments, and 
with the recommendation of a very interesting person and ad- 
dress, had derived from the Cowpers, of vrhich family his moth- 
er was, no small proportion of hereditary taste and talent ; he 
was a good classical scholar, composed excellent declamations 
in the Ciceronian style, which he set ofi' with all the grace of re- 
citation and voice, that can well be conceived : he had a great 
passion for music, sung well, and read in chapel to the admira- 
tion of every one. I have passed many happy hours with him 
in the morning of our lives, and I hope he will enjoy the evening 
of his days in comfort and tranquillity, having chosen that bet- 
ter lot, which has brought him into harbour, whilst I, who lost 
it, am left out at sea. 

The senior Westmanster of my year, and joint candidate 
with me at this time, was John Higgs, now Rector of Grandis- 
burgh in Suffolk, and a s-nior fellow of Trinity College ; a man, 
who, when I last visited him, enjoyed all the vigour of mind 
and body in a green old age, the result of good humour, and 
the reward of temperance. We have spun out mutually a long 
measure of uninteirupted friendship, he in peace throughout, 
and I at times in perplexity ; and if I survive to complete these 
memoirs, and he to read this page, I desire he will receive it as 
a testimony of ray unaltered regard for him through life, and 
the bequest of my last good wishes at the close of it. 

It would hardly be excusable in me to detail a process, that 
takes place every year, but that in this instance the novelty of 
our case made it matter of very general attention. When the 
day of examination came, we went our rounds to the electing 
seniors ; in some instances by one at a time, in others by par- 
ties of three or four ; it was no trifling scrutiny we had to un- 
dergo, and here and there pretty severely exacted, pai-ticularly, 
as I well remember, by Doctor Charles Mason, a man of cu- 
rious knowledge in the philosophy of mechanics and a deep 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 61 

jtiatheinaticbn ; he was a true modern Diogenes, in manners 
and apparel, course and slovenly to excess in both ; the witty 
made a butt of iiim, but. the scientifick caressed him ; he could 
ornament a subject at the same time that he disgusted and dis- 
graced society. I renj^mber when he came one day to dinner 
in the college iiall, dirty as a blacksmlLh from his forge, upon 
his being questioned on his appearance, he replied — that he 
had been turning — then I wish, said the other, when you was 
about it, friend Charles, you had turned your shirt. This phi- 
losopher, as I was prepared to believe, decidedly opposed my 
election. He gave us a good dose of dry mathematics, and 
then put an Aristophanes before us, which he opened at a ven- 
ture, and bade us give the sense of it. A very worthy candi= 
date of my year declined having any thing to do with it, yet 
Mason gave his vote for that gentleman, and against me, who 
took his leavings. Doctor Samuel Hooper gave us a liberal 
and well chosen examination in the more familiar classics ; that 
indeed was a man, in whom nothing could be found but what 
was gentle and engaging, whom suavity of temper and the 
charms of manners made dear to all that knew him ; he died 
and was buried in the chapel of his college, where a marble 
tablet, erected to his memory, cannot fail to awaken the sensi- 
bility of all, who like me, were acquainted with his virtues. 

The last, whom in order of our visits we resorted to, was 
the master ; he called us to him one by one according to our 
standings, and of course it fell to me as junior candidate to 
wait till each had been examined in his turn. When in obedi- 
ence to his summons I attended upon him, he was sitting, not 
in the room where my grandfather had his library, but in a 
chamber up stairs, encompassed with large folding screens, and 
over a great fire, though the weather was then uncommonly- 
warm : he began by reciuiring of me an account of the whole 
course and progress of my studies in the several branches o£ 
philosophy, so called in the general, and as I proceeded in my 
detail of what I had read, he sifted me with questions of such 
a sort as convinced me he was determined to take nothing up- 
on trust ; when he had held me a considerable time under this 
examination, I expected he would have dismissed me, but on 
the contrary he proceeded in the like general tei-ms to demand 
of me an account of what 1 had been reading before I had ap- 
plied myself to academical studies, and when I had acquitted 
myself of this question as briefly as I could, and I hope as 
modestly as became me in presence of a man so learned, he 
bade me give him a summary account of the several great em- 
pires of the ancient world, the periods when they flourished, 
their extent when at the summit of their power, the causes of 
their declension and dates of their extinction. When summon- 
ed to give answer to so wide a question, I can only say it was 
well for me I had worked so hard upon my scheme of Genera} 
F 



^ MEMOIRS OF 

History, which I have before made mention of, and which, 
though not complete in all the points of his enquiry, supplied 
me with materials for such a detail, as seemed to give him more 
than tolerable satisfaction. Tl)is process being over, he gave 
me a sheet of paper written through in Greek with his own 
hand, which he ordered me to turn either into Latin or English, 
and I was shewn into a room, containing nothing but a table 
furnished with materials for writing, and one chair, and I was 
required to use dispatch. The passage was maliciously enough 
selected in point of construction, and also of character, for he 
had scrawled it out in a puzzling kind o_f hand with abbrevia- 
tions of his own devising ; it related to 'the arrangement of an 
army for battle, and I believe might be taken from Poly bins, 
an author 1 had then never read. When I had given in my 
translation in Latin, I was remanded to the empty chamber 
with a subject for Latin prose and another for Latin verse, and 
again required to dispatch them in the manner of an impromptu. 
The chamber, into which 1 was shut for the performance of 
these hasty productions, was the very room, dismantled of the 
bed, in which I was born. The train of ideas it revived in my 
mind were not inappositely woven into the verses I gave in, 
and with this task my examination concluded. 

Doctor Smith, who so worthily succeeded to the mastership 
of Trinity on my grandtather's decease, was unquestionably 
one of the most learned men of his time, as his works, espe- 
cially his System of Optics, effectually demonstrate. He led 
the life of a student, abstemious and recluse, his family con- 
sisting of a sister, advanced in years, and unmarried like him- 
self, together with a neice, who in the course of her residence 
there was married to a fcllov/ of the college. He was a man, 
of whom it might be said — Philosophy had jnarked hhn for her 
oiun ; of a thin spare habit, a nose prominently aqualine, and 
an eye penetrating ;is that of the bird, the semblance of whose 
beak marked the character of his face : the tone of his voice 
was shrill and nasal, and his manner of speaking such as de- 
' noted forethought and deliberation. How deep a theorist he 
was in harmony his treatise will evince ; of mere melody he 
Avas indignantly neglectful, and could not reconcile his ear to 
the harpsichord, till by a construction of his own he had di- 
vided the half tones into their proper flats and sharps. Those 
who figured to themselves a Diogenes in Mason, might have 
fancied they beheld an Aristotle in Smith, who, had he lived in 
the age and fallen within the eye of the great designer of The 
School of Athens, might have left his image there without 
discrediting the groupe. 

The next day the election was announced, and I was chosen, 
together with Mr. John Orde, now one of the masters in 
Chancery, who was of the same year with myself, and next to 
me upon the list of Wratigkrs. This gentleman had also gain- 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 63 

ed the prize adjudged to him for his Latin declamation ; for 
his private worthiness he was universally esteemed, and for 
his public merits deservedly rewarded. By our election two 
candidates of the year above us for ever lost their chance ; the 
one of these a Mr. Bnggs, the other Mr. Penneck, a name 
well knov/n, and a character much-esteemed : he filled a situa- 
tion in the British Museum with great respectability, was a 
very amiable worthy man, higlily valued by his friends when 
living, and much lamented after death. His disappointment 
on this occasion was very gv>nerally regretted, and I think I can 
answer for the feelings of Mr. Orde as confidently as for my own. 

When I waited upon the electing seniors to return my thanks, 
of course I did not omit to pay my compliments to Doctor 
Mason. — " You owe me no compliment, he replied, for I tell 
" you plainly I opposed your election, not because I have any 
" personal objection to you, but because I am no friend to in- 
" iiovations, and tr.ink it hard upon the excluded candidates 
"■ to be subjected on a sudden to a regulation, which accord- 
■ 'ng to my calculation gives you two chances to their one, 
• and takes away, as it has proved, even that one. But you 
" are in ; so there's an end of it, and I give you joy." 

Having staid as long in college as in gratitude and propriety 
I conceived it right to stay, I went home to Stanwick, and 
from thence paid my duty in a short visit to Lord Halifax. 
This was certainly a moment, of which I covdd have availed 
myself for returning into the line of life, which I had steptout 
of, and as neither now, nor in any day of my long attendance 
upon Lord Halifax, there ever was an hour, when my father 
would not have lent a ready ear to my appeal, the reasons, that 
prevailed with me for persisting, Avere not dictated by him. 
In the mean time the life I led in town during the first years of 
my attendance was almost as much sequestered from the world, 
as if I had been resident in college : in my lodging in Mount 
Street I liad stocked m}-self with my own books, some of my 
father's, and those, which Doctor Richard Bentley had bestow- 
ed upon me ; I sought no company, nor pushed for any new 
connexions amongst those, whom 1 occasionally met in Gros- 
venor-Square ; one or two of my fellow collegiates now and 
then looked in upon me, and about this time I made my first 
small offering to the press, following the steps of Gray with 
another church-yard elegy, written on Saint Mark's eve, when, 
according to rural tradition the ghosts of those, who are to 
die within the year erisuing, are seen to walk at midnight across 
the church-yard. I believe the public were very little interest- 
ed, by my plaintive ditty, and Mr. Dodsley, who was publish- 
er, as little profited. I had v/ritten it at Stanwick in one of 
my college vacations, sometime before I belonged to Lord Hal- 
ifjix, and had affixed to my title pagoi the following motto 

rh which I sent it into the world — 



«4 MEMOIRS Or 

• A;o? d'i rot Lyyi'Koi; it^ty 



" A,'f£»rft) Syr kv si y,i>^i^^uv vfuog ur/tvi." 

1 had made my stay at Horton as short as I could with pro» 
prie'ty, being impatient to avail myself of every day that I 
could pass in the society of my family. With them I was 
happy ; in their company I enjoyed those tranquil and delicious 
hours, which were endeared to me stiil more by the contrast of 
fvhat I suffered when in absence from them. 

With all these sensations within me, these filial feelings and 
family attachment, I hardly need confess, that, however time 
and experience may have changed my taste or capacity for pub- 
lic life, certain it is that I was not then fitted for it, nor had 
any of those worldly qualities and accommodations in my na- 
ture, which are sure to push their possessors into notice, and 
form what may be called the very nidus of good fortune. A 
man, who is gifted with these lucky talents, is armed with hands, 
as a ship with grappling irons, ready to catch hold of, and make 
himself fast to every thing he comes in contact with ; and such 
a man, with all these properties of adhesion, has also the prop- 
erty, like the polypus, of a most miraculous and convenient indi- 
visibility ; cut off his hold, nay, cut him how you will, he is 
still a polypus, whole and entire. Men of this sort shall work 
their way cut of their obscurity like cockroaches out of the hold 
of a ship, and crawl into notice, nay, even into king's palaces, 
as the frogs did into Pharaoh's : the happy faculty ot noting 
times and seasons, and a lucky promptitude to avail themselves 
of moments with address and boldness, are alone such all-suf- 
ficient requisites, such marketable stores of worldly knowledge, 
that although the minds of those, who own them, shall be, as to 
all the liberal sciences, a rasa tabula, yet knowing these things 
needful to be known, let their difficulties and distresses be what 
they may, though the storm of adversity threatens to overwhelm 
them, they are in a life-boat, buoyed up by corks, and cannot 
sink. These are the stray children, turned loose upon the \vorld, 
whom fortune in her charity takes charge of, and for whose gui- 
dance in the bye-ways and cross-roads of their pilgrimage she 
sets up fairy finger-pots discoverable by them, whose eyes are 
near the ground, but unperceived by such, whose looks are rais- 
ed above it. 

In a nation, like this, where all ranks and degrees are laid open 
to enterprize, merit or good fortune, it is fit, right and natural 
that sudden elevations should occur and be encouraged. It is a 
spur to industry, and incites to emulation and laudable ambition. 
Whilst it leads to these good consequences, it must also tend to 
others of a ditFerent sort. In all communities so constituted. 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 65 

tliere will be a secret market for cunning, as well as a fair em- 
porium for honesty, and a vast body of men, who can't support 
themselves without labour of some sort, and won't live by the 
labour of their hands, must contrive to live by their wits 

Honest men 
Are tke soft easy cushions, on nuhich knaves 
Repose and fatten — 

But there are more than these — Vain men will have their flat" 
terers, ric*- men their followers, and powerful men their depen- 
dant • A great man in office is like a great whale in the ocean ; 
tbcie will be a sword-fish and a thresher, a Junius and a John 
Wilkes, ever in his wake and arming to attack him : These are 
the vext spirits of the deep, who trouble the waters, turning 
them up from the very bottom, that they may emerge from their 
mud, and float upon the surface of the billows in foam of their 
making. 

The abstract history of some of these gentry is curious — when 
they have made a wreck of their own reputation, they assault 
and tear in pieces the reputations of others; they defame man 
and blaspheme God ; they are punished for their enormities ; 
this makes them martyrs ; martyrdom makes them popular, they 
are crowned with praises, honours and emoluments, and they 
leave the world in admiration of their talents, before they have 
tasted the contempt which they deserve. 

But whilst these men may be said to fight their way into con- 
sequence, and so long as they can but live in notice are content 
to live in trouble, there is a vast majority of easy, unambitious, 
courteous humble servants, whose unoffending vanity aspires no 
higher than like Samson's bees to make honey in the bowels of 
a lion, and fatten on the oflal of a rich man's superfluities. 
They' ask no more of fortune than to float, like the horse dung 
with the apples, and enjoy the credit of good company as they 
travel down the smooth and easy stream of life. For these there 
is a vast demand, and their talents are as various as the uses 
they are put to. Every great, rich and consequential man, who 
has not the wisdom to hold his tongue, must enjoy his privilege 
of talking, and there must be dull fellows to listen to him; 
again, if, by talking about what he does not understand, he gets 
into embarrassments, there must be clever fellows to help him 
out of them : When he would be merry, there must be witty 
T'ogues to make him laugh ; when he would be son-owful, there 
must be sad rogues to sigh and groan and make long faces : as 
a great man must be never in the wrong, there must be hardy 
rascals, who will swear he is always in the right ; as he must 
never show fear, of course he must never see danger ; and as 
his courage must at no time sink, there must be friends at all 
times ready to prevent its being tried. 
F2 



6<)- MEMOIRS OF 

A great man is entitled to his relaxations ; he, who labours 
for the public, must recreate his spirit with his private friends : 
then it is that the happy moments, the molUa tempora are to be 
found, which the adebt in the art of rising knows so well how 
to make his use of. Of opportunities like these I have had my 
share ; I never turned them to my own advantage ; if at any 
time I undertook a small solicitation, or obtruded a request, it 
was for some humble client, who told a melancholy tale, and 
could advance no nearer to the principal than by making suit to 
me ; in the mean time I saw many a favour wrested by impor- 
tunity out of that course, which I had reason to expect they 
would have taken : I never remonstrated, and a very slight apol- 
ogy sufficed for me. These negative merits I may fairly cVa\t\ 
without offence against the modesty of truth ; I was assiduous 
in discharging all the duties of my small employ, and faithful- 
ly attached to my employer : if he had no call upon me for 
more or greater services than any man of the commonest ca- 
pacity could have performed, it was because occasions did not 
occur ; I had not the fault of neglecting what I had to do, nor 
the presumption of dictating in any single instance what should 
be done. 

Lord Halifax wrote all his own dispatches, and v^ath reason, 
for he wrote well ; but I am tempted to record one opportuni- 
ty, that was thrown in my way by the candour of Mr. Charles 
Townshend, whilst he was passing a few days at Horton ; 
amongst a variety of subjects, which his active imagination was 
for ever starting, something had recuiTed to his recollection of 
an enigmatical sort, that he wished to have the solution of, and 
could not strike upon it ; it was only to be done by a geometri- 
cal process, which I was fortunate enough to hit upon ; I work- 
ed it as a problem and gave him my solution in writing ; I be- 
lieve it pleased him, but I am very sure that his good nature 
was glad of the opportunity to say flattering things to a diffi- 
dent young man, who said very little for himself, and further to 
do me grace he was pleased to put into my hands a very long 
and elaborate report of his own drawing up, for he was then 
one of the Lords of trade, and this he condescended to desire I 
would carefully revise and give him my remarks .without re- 
serve. How highly I was gratified by this condescension in a 
man of his extraordinary and superior genius, I need not say, 
nor how well, or how ill, I executed my commission ; I did it 
to the best of my abilities ; there was much to admire, and 
something here and there in his paper to warrant a remark : 
if his compliments were sincere, I succeeded, and shortly after 
I had proofs, that put his kind opinion of me out of doubt. 

One morning in coversation tete-;i-tete, he said he recollected 
a quotation he had chanced upon in an anonymous author, who 
maintained opinions of a very impious sort. — The passage h^ 
repeated is as follows — 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 67 

Post mortem nihil est, ipsaq ; mors nihil — 

And he asked me if I knew where those words were to be found : 
I recollected them to be in one of the tragedies of Seneca, I be- 
lieved it was that of the Troades, which I had lately chanced 
upon amongst my grandfather's books : as soon as I had access 
to these, I turned to the passage, and according to his desire 
copied and inclosed it to him. 'Tis found in the second act of 
the Troades, and as it is a curious extract, and short withal, I 
have in:;erted it, together with the stanzas written at the time 
and transmitted with it, which, though not very closely transla» 
ted, I have transcribed verbatim aa I find them. 

Venim est, an timidos fabula decipit 
Umbras corporibus vivere conditis ? 
Cum conjux oculis imposuit manum, 
Supremusq ; dies solibus obstilit, 
Et tristes cineres urna courcuit, 
Non prodest animam tradere fimeri, 
Sed restat miseris vivere longius, 
An toti morimuv, nullaq ; pars manet 
Nostri, cum profugo spiritus halilu 
Immistus nebuiis cessit in aera, 
Et nudum tetigit subdita fax latus — ? 

Quidquid sol oriens, quidquid et occidens 
Novit, casruleis oceanus fretis 
Quidquid vel veniens vel fugiens lavat, 
^tas pegaseo corripiet gradu. 
Quobiscena volant sidera turbine, 
(2uo cursu properat secula volvere 
Astrorum domnius, quo properat modo 
Obliquis Hecate currere flexubus. 
Hoc omnes pelimus fata ; nee amplius 
Juratos Superis qui tetigit lacus 
Usquam est : ut calidis fumus ab ignibus 
Vanescit, spatium per breve sordidus, 
Ut nubes gravidas, quas modo vidimus, 
Arctoi Borcje disjicit impetus. 
Sic hie, quo regimur, spiritus eiBuet. 
Post mortem nihil est, ipsaq ; mors nihil ; 
Velocis spatii meta novissima. 
Spem ponant avidi, solliciti metum ! 
Quseris quo jaceas post obitum loco — ? 
Quo non nata jacent. 
Terapus nos avidum devorat, et chaos : 
Mors individua est ; noxia corpori. 
Nee parcen:; animse. Tsenara, et aspero 
Regnum sub domino, limen et obsidens 
Custos non faciii Cerberus ostio, 



68 MEMOIRS Of 

Riimores v.icui, verbaq ; inania, 
Et par sollicito fabula somnio. 

Chorus of Trojan Wo)7ien. 

" Is it a truth, or fiction all, 
" Which only cowards trust, 

" Shall the soul live beyond the grave, 
" Or mingle with our dust I 

" When the last gleam of parting day 
" Our struggling sight hath blest, 

" And in the pale array of death 
" Our clay-cold limbs are drest, 

" Did the kind friend who clos'd our eyes, 
" Speak peace to us in vain ? 

" Is there no peace, and have we died 
" To live and weep again I 

" Or sigh'd we then our souls away, 
" And was that sigh our last, 

" Or e'er upon the flaming pile 
" Our bare remains were cast i 

" All the sun sees, the ocean laves, 
" Kingdoms and kings shall fall, 

" Nature and nature's works shall cease, 
" And time be lord of all. 

" Swift as the monarch of the skies 

" Impels the rolling year, 
" Swift as the gliding orb of night 

" Pursues her prone career, 

^ "■ So svy^ift so sure we all descend 
" Down life's continal tide, 
*' Till in the void of fate profound 
" We sink with worlds beside. 

« As in the flame's resistless glare 
*' 'Th' envelop'd smoke is lost, 

" Or as before the driving North 
*' The scatter'd clouds are tost, 

" So this proud vapour shall expire, 

" This all-directing soul, 
'* Nothing is after death ; you've run 

" Your race and reaeh'd the goal. 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. «9 

" Dare not to wish, nor dread to meet 

<' A life beyond the grave ; 
** You'll meet no other iife than now 

" The unborn ages have. 

" Time wheims us in the vast Inane, 

" A giiip;i without a shore ; 
" Death gives the exterminating blow, 

" We fall to rise no more. 

•< Hell, and its triple-headed guard, 

" And Lethe's fr.bled stream, 
" Are tales that lying gossips tell, 

■*' And moon-struck Sybils dream." 

It was the good old custom of the Earl of Haiii^ax to pass the 
Chrihtmas at his family seat of Horton in great hospitality, and 
upon the.se occasions he never failed to be accompanied by 
parties of his friends and intimates from town ; the chief of 
these were the Lords Dr.pplin and Barrington, Mr. Charles 
Townsliend, Mr. Francis Fane, Mr. James O.-wald, Mr. Hans 
Stanley, Mr. Narbonne Berkeley, Lord Hillsborough, Mr. Dod- 
ington, Coioneljames Johnstone, the husband of his sister Lady 
Charlotte, and Mr. Ambrose Isted of Ecton, near Northampton, 
his neighbour and constant visitor at those seasons : these, with 
the addition of Doctor Crane and the Reverend Mr. Spencer, 
an elderly clergyman, long attached to the family, formed a so- 
ciety highly rebpectable. I ever entertained a perfect and sin- 
cere regard for Lady Halifax ; her mild complacent character 
was to me far more engaging than the livelier spirits and more 
figuring talents of many, who engrossed that attention, which 
she did not arpire to : she was uniform in her kindness to me, 
and whilst she lived, I flatter myself, I had a friend, who esteem- 
ed and undcr-stood me : when she died I had more reason to re- 
gret her loss than for myself alone. 

My father was still fixed in his residence at Stanwick, and 
there I ever found unvaried felicity, unabated affection. He 
had somie excellent friends and many pleasant neighbours, with 
whom he lived upon the most agreeable terms, for in his house 
every body seemed to be happy ; his table was admii-ably man- 
aged by my mother, his cellars, servants, equipage in the best 
order, and without parade unbecoming of his profession, or un- 
suitable to his fortune, no family could be better conducted ; 
^nd here I mnst indulge myself in dilating on the character of 
one of his be;>t friends, and best of men, Ambro e Istcd, Esq. 
of Ecton aforementioned. Through every scene of my life, 
from my childhood to the lamented event of his death, which 
happened whilst I was in Spain, he was invariably kind, induU 
gent and aftectionate to me. I conceive thei-e is not upon re(;ord 



70 MEMOIRS OF 

one, who more perfectly fulfilled the true character of a coun- 
try fjentlenian in all its most respectable duties and departments 
than did this exemplary person ; nor will his name be forgotten 
in Ndthamptorishire i-n long as the memory or tradition of 
good deeds shall circulate, or gratitude be considered as a trib- 
ute due to the benevolent. He was the pattern and very mod- 
el of hospitality mo-t worthy to be copied ; for his fiimily and 
affiiirs were administered and conducted with such measured 
liberality, such co-.TCctand wise economy, that the friend, wiio 
foirad nothing v/antiog, which could constitute his comforts, 
found nothing wastefully superfluous to occasion his regret. 
Though Mr. Isted's estate was not large, yet by the process of 
enclosure, and above all by his prudent and well-ordered man- 
agement, it was augmented without extortion, and loft in ex- 
cellent condition to his son and heir. The benefits he confer- 
red upon his poorer neighbours were of a nature far superior to 
the common acts of alms giving (though these were not omitted) 
for in all their difficulties and embarrassments, he was their coun- 
sellor and adviser, not merely in his capacity of acting justice of 
the peace, but aUo from his legal knowledge and experience, 
which were very considerable, atid fully competent to all their 
uses ; by Aviiicn numliers, who might else have fallen under the 
talons of country attornies, were saved from pillage and begga- 
ry.* V/ith this gentlem.an my father acted as justice, and was 
united in friendship and in party, and to him he resorted upon 
all occasions, where the opinion and advice of a judicious friend 
were wanted. Our families corrc-ponded in the utmost har- 
mony, and our intercliange of visits v>'as frequent and delight- 
ful. The house of Ecton was to me a second home, and the 
hospitable master of it a second father ; his gaiety of heart, his 
suavity of temper, the interest he took in giving pleasure to his 
guests, and the fund of information he possessed in the stores 
of a well-furnished memory and a lively animated genius, are 
ever fresh in my recollection, and I look back upon the days I 
have passed with him as some of the happiest in my life. For 
many years before his death, I saw this excellent man by inter- 
vals excruciated with a tormenting and incurable disease, which 
laid too deep and undiscoverable in his vitals to admit of any 
other relief than laudanum in large doses could at times admin- 
ister : nothing but a soul serene and piously resigned as his 
was, could have borne itself up against a visitation at once so 
agonizing and so hopeless ; a spirit however fortified by faith, 
and a conscience clear of reproach can effect great things, and 
my heroic friend through all his trials smiled in the midst of 
sutferings, and submitted unrepining to his fate. One of 
the last letters he lived to write I received in Spain : I saw it 
was the effort of an exhausted frame, a generous zeal to send 
one parting testimony of his affection to me, and being at that 
time myself extremely ill, I was hardly in a capacity to dictat', 
S reply. 



KICHARD CUMBERLAND. 71 

1 was also at this time in habits of the most intimate friend- 
ship with two young men of my own age, sons of a worthy 
clergyman in our neighbourhood, the Reverend Mr. Ekins. 
Jeffery the elder, now deeeased, was Dean of Carlisle, and Rec- 
tor of Morpeth ; John tlje younger is yet living and Dean of 
Salisbury. Few men have been more fortunate in life than these 
brothers, fewer still have probably so well deserved their good 
success. With the elder of these my intimacy was the great- 
est ; the same passion for poetry possessed us both, the same 
attachment to the drama : our respective families indulged us 
in our propensities, and were mutually amused with our do- 
mestic exhibitions. My friend Jetfcry was in my family, as I 
was in his, an inmate ever welcome ; his genius was quick and 
brilliant, his temper sweet, and his nature mild and gentle in 
the extreme ; I loved him as a brother ; we never had the 
slightest jar, nor can I recollect the moment in our lives, that 
ever gave occasion of offence to either. Our destinations sep- 
arated us in the more advanced period of our time ; his duties 
drew him to a distance from the scenes I was engaged in ; his 
lot was prosperous and placid, and well for liim it was, for he 
was not made to combat with the storms of life. In early youth, 
long before he' took orders, he composed a drama of an allegor- 
ical cast, which he entitled Fiorio, or The Pursuit of' Happiness. 
Tliere was a great deal of fancy in it, and I vsrote a comment 
upon it almost as long as the drama itself, which I sent to him 
as a mark of my admiration of his genius, and my affection for 
his person. He also wrote a poem upon Dreams, which had 
great merit, but as I wished my friend to employ his talents up- 
on subjects of a more elevated nature, I addieysed some lines to 
him in the style of remonstrance, of which 1 shall transcribe no 
more than the concluding stanza — 



" But thou, whose powers can wield a weighter theme, 

" Why waste one thought upon an empty di-eam ? 

" Why all this genius, all this art display'd 

" To paint a vapour and arrest a shade ? 

" Can fear-drawn shapes and vibions of the night 

" xlssaii thy fanc)-, or deceive thy sight ? 

" Wilt thou to air-built pai, ,es resort, 

*' Where the sylphs flutter and the fairies sport. 

" No, let them sooth the love-enfeebled brain, 

" Thy Muse shall seize her harp and strike a loftier strain."* 

During the time I lived in this pleasing intercourse with the 
family of the'e worthy brothers, there was an ingenioub friend 
and school-fellow of their's pretty constantly resident with 
them, of the name of Arden, a young man very much to be iov- 



■72 MEMOIRS OF 

ed for tKe amenity of his temper and the vivacity of his parts. 
He was the life and soul of our dramatic amusements, and had 
an energy of character, as well as a fund of humour, that ena* 
'bled him to give its true force and expression to every part he 
assumed in our private exhibidoiis. And here let me not omit 
to mention a near relation, and once my most dear friend, 
Richard, son of the Reverend Doctor George Reynolds, and 
grandson of Bishop Reynolds, who married the daughter of 
Bishop Cumberland. This mild and amiable young man had 
in early life so far attached hmiseif to the Ear! of Sandwich, as 
to accompany him to the Congress at Aix-'.>Chapeiie, but 
being perfectly independent in his fortune and of an unambi- 
tious placid natui-e, he declined pursuing any further the un- 
quiet track of public life, and sate down with his family at their 
house of Paxton in Huntingdonshire, to the possession of which 
he succeeded, and where he still i-esides. I am here hpeaking of 
the days of my intimacy with this gentleman, and I look back 
to them with none but grateful recollection; in the course of 
these memoirs I shall have to t-peak of other days, that will re- 
call sensations of another sort. 

If ever this once- valued friend shall be my reader, let me ap- 
peal to his candour for a fair interpretation of my feelings, 
when I cannot pass this period over without recalling to his 
memory and my own the name of his departed sister, who 
merited and possessed my best atlections in their purest sense. 
The hospitable welcome I always received from the parents of 
this amiable lady, and their encouraging politeness to me might 
have tempted one less respectful of her comforts, and less sen- 
sible of her superior pretensions, to have presumed upon their 
favour and made tender of his addresses ; but my precarious 
dependency and unsettled state of life, forbade such hopes, 
and I was silent. I now return to my narrative, in which I am 
prepared to speak both of others and myself no more than I 
know, or verily believe, to be truth. 

It was about this time I employed myself in collecting mate- 
rials from the History of India for the plan of a poem in heroic 
verse, many fragments of which I find amongst my old papers, 
which prove I had bestowed considerable labour on the work, 
and made some progress. Whether I found the plan could not 
be made to accord to my idea of the epic, or whether any other 
project called me off I cannot no ^' recollect ; but at that time 
I had not attempted any thing professedly for the stage. I 
must, however, lament that it has lain by unlocked at for so 
great a length of time, as there have been intermediate periods 
of leisure when it would have been well worth my pains to 
have taken it up. It is now too late, and the only use I can 
apply it to is humbly to lay before the public a specimen, faith- 
fully transcribed from that part of the poem, v.-here the discov- 
eries of the Portuguese are introduced, i might perhaps have 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 73 

selected passages less faulty, but I give it correctly as I find it, 
trusting that the candid reader will make allowances for that 
too florid style, which juvenile versifiers are so apt to indulge 
themselves in, whilst the fancy is too prurient and the judgment 
not mature. • 

^ ^ ^ ^ 

Fragment, 

« Long time had Afric's interposing mound, 

" Stretching athwart the navigator's way, 

" Fenc'd the rich East, and sent th' adventrous bark 

" Despairing home, or whelm'd her in the waves. 

" Gama the first on bold discovery bent, 

" With prow still pointing to the fuilher pole, 

" Skilled CafFraria till the welcome cape, 

" Thence call'd of Hope — but not to Asia's sons — 

" Spoke the long coast exhausted ; still 'twas hope, 

" Not victory ; nature in one etfoit foil'd, 

" Still kept the contest doubtful, and enrag'd, 

" Rous'd all the elements to war. Meanwhile, 

** As once the Titans with Saturnian Jove, 

" So he in happier hour and his bold crew 

" Undaunted conflict held ; old Ocean storm'd, 

" Loud thunder rent the air, the leagued winds 

" Roar'd in his front, as if all Afric's Gods 

*' With necromantic spells had charm'd the storm 

" To shake him from his course — in vain ; for Fate, 

*' That grasp'd his helm with unrelenting hand, 

" Had register'd his triumph : through the breach 

" All Lusitania pour'd ; Arabia mourn'd, 

" And saw her spicy caravans return 

" Shorn of their wealth ; the Adriatic bride 

" Like a neglected beauty pin'd away ; 

" Europe which by her hand of late receiv'd 

" India's rich fruits, from the deserted mart 

** Now turn'd aside and pluckt them as they grev^. 

" A new-found world from out the waves arose. 
" Now Sofiala, and all the swanning coast 
" Of fruitful Zanguebar, till where it meets 
" The sultry Line, pour'd forth their odorous stores* 
" The thirsty West drank deep the luscious draught, 
" And reel'd with luxury : Emmanuel's throne 
" Blaz'd with barbaric gems ; aloft he sate 
" Encanopied with gold, and circled round 
" With warriors and with chiefs in Eastern pomp 
" Resplendent with their spoils. Close in the rear 
«* Of conquest march'd the motley papal boat, 
G 



MEMOIRS OF 

« Monks of all colours, brotherhoods and names ; 

*' Frowning they rear'd the cross ; th' affrighted tribes 

" Look'd up aghast, and whilst the cannon's mouth 

« Thunder'd obedience, dropt the unwilling knee 

" In trembling adoration of a God, 

« Whom, as by nature tutor'd, in his works 

*< They saw, and only in his mercy knew. 

*< But creeds, impos'd by terror, can ensure 

«' No fixt allegiance, but are strait dismiss'd 

" From the vext conscience, when the sword is sheath'd. 

" Now when the barrier, that so long had stood 
** 'Twixt the disparted nations, was no more, 
" Like fire once kindled, spreading in its course, 
*< Onward the mighty conflagration roU'd. 
" As if the Atlantic and the Southern seas, 
<' Driv'n by opposing winds and urg'd amain 
«< By fierce tornadoes, with their cumbrous weight 
«' Should on a sudden at the narrowing pass 
<' Of Darien burst the continental chain 
« And whelm together, so the nations rush'd 
«<- Impetuous through the breach, where Gama forc'd 
*' His desperate passage ; terrible the shock, 
*' From Ormus echoing to the Eastern isles 
*' Of Java and Sumatra ; India now 
« From th' hither Tropic to the Southern Cape 
*' Show'd to the setting sun a shore of blood : 
*' In vain hermonarchs from a hundred thrones 
*' Sounded the arbitrary word for war ; 
*' In vain whole cataracts of dusky slaves 
" Pour'd on the coast : earth trembled with the weight ; 
« But what can slaves ? What can the nerveless arm, 
« Shrunk by that soft emasculating ciiroe, 
" What the weak dart against the mailed breast 
" Of Europe's martial sons ? On sea, on shore 
<' Great Almeed triumph'd, and the rival sword 
" Of Albuquerque, invincible in armf, 
<' Wasted the nations, humbling to the yoke 
*' Kings, whom submissive myriads in the dust 
« Prostrate ador'd, and from the solar blaze 
»' Of majesty retreating veil'd their eyes. 

*' As when a roaming vulture on the wing 
*' From Mauritania or the cheerless waste 
*< Of sandy Thibet, by keen hunger prest, 
" With eye quick glancing from his airy height 
*' Haply at utmost need descries a fav.'n, 
*' Or kid, disporting in some fruitful vale, 
" Down, dovvn at once the greedy felon drops 
*' With wings close covv'ring in his hollow sides 
" Full on the helpless victim ; thence again 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. TS 

" Tow'ring in air he bears his luscious prize, 

" And in his native wild enjoys the feast ; 

" So these foi-th issuing from the rocky shore 

« Of distant Tagus on the quest for gain 

" In realms unknown, which feverish fancy paints 

" Glittering with gems and gold, range the wide seas, 

" Till India's istlimus, rising with the sun 

" To their keen sight, her fertile bosom spreads, 

" Period and palm of all their labours past ; 

<' Whei'eat with avarice and ambition fir'd, 

" Eager alike for plunder and for fame, 

" Onward they press to spring upon their prey ; 

" There every spoil obtain'd, with greedy haste 

" By force or fraud could ravage from the hands 

" Of Nature's peaceful sons, again they mount 

" Their richly fi-eighted bark ; she, while the cries 

«* Of widows and of orphans rend the strand, 

" Striding the billows, to the venal winds 

" Spreads her broad vans, and flies before the gale- 

" Here as by sad necessity I tell 
" Of human woes to rend the hearer's heart, 
'* Truth be my Muse, and thou, my bosom's star,. 
" The planetary mistress of my birth, 
«' Parent of all my bliss, of all my pain, 
<* Inspire me, gentle Pity and attune 
" Thy numbers, heavenly cherub, to my strain ! 
" Thou, too, for whom my heart breathes every wish, 
" That filial love can form, fairest of isles, 
" Albion, attend and deign to hear a son, 
" Who for afflicted millions, prostrate slaves 
" Beneath oppression's scourge, and waining fast 
" By ghastly famine and destructive war, 
" No venal suit prefers ; so may thy fleets, 
" Mistress of commerce, link the Western worl4 
" To thy maternal bosom, chase the sun 
" Up to his source, and in the bright display 
" Of empire and the liberal search of fame 
" Belt the wide globe — but mount, ye guardian waves, 
" Stand as a wall before the spoiler's path ! 
" Ye stars, your bright intelligence withdraw, 
" And darkness cover all, whom lust of gold, 
" Fell rapine, and extortion's guilty hope 
" Rouse from their native dust to rend the thrones 
" Of peaceful princes, and usurp that soil, 
" V\^here late as humble traffickers they sought 
" And found a shelter : thus what they obtain'd 
" By supplication they extend by force, 
" Till in the wantonness of power they grasp 
*' Whole provinces, where millions are their slaves. 



^e MEMOIRS OF 

** Ah \vhither shall T turn to meet the face 

** Of love and human kindness in this world, 

*' On which I now am cnt'ring ? Gracious heaven, 

'• If, as I trust, thou ha--t bestow'd a sense 

" Of thy best gift benevolence on me, 

•' Oh vitiit me in mercy, and preserve 

" That spark of thy divinity alive, 

"• Till time shall end me ! So v/hen all the blasts 

" Of malice and unkindness, which my fate 

" May have in t-tore, shall vent their rage upon me, 

*' Feeling, but still forgiving, the assault, 

" I may persist with patiei\ce to devote 

" My life, my love, my labours to mankind." 



The severest misfortune that could menace my unhappy pat. 
ron, was now hanging over him. The state of Lady Halifax's 
health became daily more and more alarming ; she seemed to 
be sinking under a consumptive and exhausted constitution. 
It was then the custom for the chief families in Northampton- 
shire to attend the country races in great form, and the Lord 
Xieutenant on that occasion m.ade it a point to assemble his 
friends and party in their best equipage and aiTay to grace the 
meeting : this was ever a formidable task for poor Lady Hali- 
fax, whose tender spirits and declining health were ill suited 
to such undertakings ; but upon the last year of her accompa- 
nying her Lord to this meeting, I found her more than usually 
apprehensive, and she too truly predicted that it would accel- 
erate her death. I attended upon her at that meeting, and 
when I expressed my hopes that she had escaped her fatigues 
without any material injury, as I was handing her to her coach 
on the morning of her departure, she shook her head and again 
repeated her entire conviction that she should not long survive. 
My heart sunk as I took leave of her under this melancholy 
impreshion : we met no more : she languished for a time, and 
to the irreparable loss of her afflicted husband died. 

Lady Halifax was by birth of humble rank, and not endow- 
ed by nature with shining talents or superior charms of peroon. 
She did not aim at that display, which conciliates popularity, 
nor afi'ect those arts, which invite admiration ; without any of 
those brilliant qualities, which, whilst they gratify a husband's 
vanity, too often endanger his honour arjd his peace, the vir- 
tues of her heart and the serenity of her temper were so hap- 
pily adapted to allay and tranquillize the more empastioned 
character of her Lord, that every man, who knew his nature, 
could not fail to foresee the dangers he would be exposed to, 
when she was no longer at his side. He had still a true and 
faithful friend in Doctor Crane, and to him Lady Halifax had 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 77 

been most entirely attached. He merited all her confidence, 
and sincerely lamented her loss, foreseeing, as I had good rea- 
son to know, the unhappy consequences it might lead to, for 
by this time I was favoured with some tokens of his regard, 
that could not be mistaken, and though his feelings never fore- 
ed him into warm expressions, yet his heart was kind, and his 
friendship sincere. Many days passed before I was summoned 
to pay my respects to the afflicted widower, who was repre- 
sented to me as being almost frantic with his grief. I divided, 
this time between my own home and the house of Ecton : at 
length I was invited to Horlon, and the meeting was a very- 
painful moment to us both. 

We soon removed to town for the winter season, and there 
whilst politicks and public office began to occupy his thoughts, 
and by degrees to wean hini from his sorrows, I resumed my 
solitary lodgings in Mount-Street, vWiere with my old Swiss ser- 
vant for my caterer and cook, I lived in all the temperance and 
nearly all the retirement of a hermit. Then it was that I deriv- 
ed all my resources in the books I possessed, and the talents 
God had given me. I read and wrote incessantly, and should 
have been in ab;;olute solitude but for the kind visits of my 
friend Higgs, who not forgetting our late intimacy at college 
and at school, nor disdaining my poor fare and dull society, 
cheered and relieved my spirits A'/ith the liveliness and hilarity 
natural to him : these are favours I can never forget ; for they 
supported me at a time, when I felt all the gloominess of my 
situation, and yet wanted energy to extricate myself from it, 
and renounce those expectations, to which I had devoted so 
much time in profitless dependance. I lived indeed upon the 
narrowest system I could adopt, but nevertheless I could not 
make the income of my fellowship bear me thi-ough without the 
generous assistance of my father, and that reflection was the 
only painful concomitant of a disappointment, that I should not 
in my own particular else have wasted a regret upon. 

In the mean time the long and irksome residence in town, 
which my attendance upon Lord Halifax entailed upon me, and 
the painful separation from my family became almost insupport- 
able, and whilst I was meditating a retreat, my good father, who 
participated with me and his whole family in these sensations, 
projected and concluded an exchange for his living of Stanwick 
with the Reverend Mr. Samuel Knight, and with permission of 
the Biihop of London, took the vicarage of Fulham as an equiv- 
alent, and thei-eby opened to me the happy prospect of an easier 
access to tliose ft^iends so justly valued and so truly dear. 

In point of income the two livings were as nearly equal as 
could well be, therefore no pecuniary compensation passed be- 
tween the contracting parties ; but the comforts of tranquillity 
in point of duty, or of conveniences in respect of locality, were 
all in favour of Mr. Knight, and nothing could have prevailed 
G 2 



78 MEMOIRS OF 

with my father for leaving those, whom he had so long loved and 
cherished as his flock, but the generous motive of giving me an 
asylum in the bosoms of my family. With this kind and benev- 
olent object in his view, he submitted to the pain of tearing him- 
self from his connexions, and amidst the lamentations of his 
neighbours and parishioners came up to Fulham to take upon 
himself the charge of a great suburbane parish, and quitted Stan- 
wick, where he had resided for the space of thirty years in peace, 
beloved by all around him. 

He found a tolerably good parsonage house at Fulham, in 
which, with my mother and my sisters, he established himself 
with a> much content as could be looked for. Wherever he 
went the odour of hi.s good name, and of course his popularity, 
Vv'as sure to follow him ; but the task of preaching to a large 
congregation after being so long familiarized to the service of 
his little church at Stanwick, oppressed his modest mind, and 
though his person, matter and manner were such as always left 
favomvable impressions on his hearers, yet it was evident to us 
who knew him and belonged to him, that he suffered by his ex- 
ertions. 

Bishop Sherlock v.^as yet living and resided in the palace, but 
in the last stage of bodily decay. The ruins of that luminous 
and powerful mind were still venerable, though his speech was 
almost unintelligible, and his features cruelly disairanged and 
distorted by the palsey : still his genius was alive, and his judg- 
ment discriminative, for it was in this lamentable state that 
he performed the task of selecting sermons for the last vol- 
ume he committed to the press, and his high reputation was in 
no respect lowered by the selection. I had occasionally the 
honour of being admitted to visit that great man in company 
with my father, to whom he was uniformly kind and gracious, 
and in token of his favour bestowed on him a small Prebend in 
the church of St. Paul, the only one that became vacant within 
his tim.e. 

Mrs. Sherlock was a truly respectable woman, and my mother 
enjoyed much of her society till the bishop's death brought a 
successor in his place. 

In the adjoining parish of Hammersmith lived Mr. Doding- 
ton, at a splendid'villa, which by the rule of contraries he was 
pleased to call La Trappe, and his inmates and familiars the 
monks of the convent ; these were Mr. Windham his relation, 
whom he made his heir, Sir William Breton, privy pur.e to the 
king, and Doctor Thompson, a physician out of practice ; these 
gentlemen formed a very curious society of very oppo-jite char- 
acters ; in .hort it was a trio cons-i-.ting of a misanthrope, a cour- 
tier and a quack. Mr. Glover, the author of Leo lidas, was oc- 
cxslonally a visitor, but not an inmate as those above-mentioned. 
How a man of Dodington's sort came to single out men of their 
sort (with the exception of Mr. Glover) is hard to say, but 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 7'J 

though his instruments were never in unison, he managed to 
make music out of them all. He could make and find amuse- 
ment in contrasting the sullenness of a Grumbetonian wiih the 
egregious vanity and self-conceit of an antiquated coxcomb, and 
as for the Doctor he waj a jvick-pudding ready to his hand at 
any time. He was understood to be Dodington's body-physi- 
cian, but I believe he cared very little about his patient's health, 
and his patient cared still less about his prescriptions ; and when 
in his capacity of supenntendant of his patron's dietetics, he cia- 
ed out one morning at breakfast to have the nui.ffins taken away, 
Dodington aptly enough cried out at the same time to the ser- 
vant to take away the raggamuffin, and truth to say a more dirty 
animal than poor Thompson was never seen on the outside of 
a pig stye ; yet he had the plea of poverty and no passion for 
cold water. 

It is about a short and pleasant mile from tliis villa to the par- 
sonage house of Fuiham, and Mr. Dodington having visited us 
with great politeness, I became a frequent guest at La Trappe, 
and passed a good deal of my time with hirn there, in Loiidon 
also, and occasionally in Dorsetshire. He was certainly one of 
the most extraordinary men of his time, and as I had opportu- 
nities of contemplating his character in all its various points of 
view, I trust my readers will not regret that I have devoted 
same pages to the further delineation of it. 

I have before ob.^erved tiiat the nature of my business as pri- 
vate secretary to L(;rd Halifax was by no means such as to em- 
ploy any great portion of my time, and of course I could devote 
many hours to my own private pursuits without neglecting 
those attendances, which were due to my principal. Lord Hal- 
ifax had also removed his abode to Downing-Street, having 
quitted his house in Grosvenor-Square upon the decease of his 
lady, so that I rarely found it necessary to sleep in town, and 
could divide the rest of my time between Fuiham and La Trappe. 
It was likewise entirely correspondent with Lord Halifax's 
wishes that I should cultivate my acfuiaintance with Mr. Dod- 
ington, with whom he not only lived upon intimate terms as a 
friend, but was now in train to form, as it seenied, some oppo- 
sition connexions ; for at this time it happened that upon a 
breach with the Duke of Newcastle, he threw up his office of 
First Lord of Trade and Plantations, and detached himself from 
administration. This took place towards the latter end of the 
late king's reign, and the ground of the measure was a breach of 
promise on the part of the Duke to give him the Seals and a 
8eatin the Cabinet as Secretary of State for the Colonies. 

In the summer of this year, being now an ex-secretary of an 
ex-statesman, I went to Eaitbury, the scat of Mr. Dodington, 
in Dorsetshire, and passed the whole time of his stay in that 
place. Lord liaiifax with his brothtr-in-law. Colonel John- 
stone, of the Blues, paid a visit there, and the Countess Dowager 



80 MEMOIRS OF 

of Stafford and old Lady Hervey were resident with us the whole 
time. Our splendid host was excelled by no man in doing the 
honours of his house and table ; to the ladies he had all the court- 
ly and profoxmd devotion of a Spaniard, with the ease and ga- 
iety of a Frenchman towards the men. His mansion was mag- 
nificent, massy and stretching out to a great extent of front, 
with an enormous portico of Doric columns, ascended by a 
stately flight of steps ; there were turrets and wings that went 
I know not whither, though now they are levelled with the 
ground, and gone to more ignoble uses : Vanbrugh, who con- 
structed this superb edifice, seemed to have had the plan of 
Blenheim in his thoughts, and the interior was as proud and 
splendid as the exterior was bold and imposing. All this was 
exactly in unison with the taste of its magnificent owner, who 
had giit and furnished the apartments with a profusion of fine- 
ry, that kept no terms with simplicity, and not always with el- 
egance or harmony of style. Whatever Mr. Dodington's rev- 
enue then was, he had the happy art of managing it with that 
regularity and economy, that 1 believe he made more display 
at less cost, than any man in the kingdom but himself could 
have done. His town house in Pall-Mall, his villa at Hammer- 
smith, and the mansion above described, were such establish- 
ments as few nobles in the nation were possessed of. In either 
of these he was net to be approached but through a suite of 
apartments, and rarely seated but vmder painted ceilings and 
gilt entablatures. In his villa you were conducted through tvv^o 
rows of antique marble statues ranged in a gallery floored with 
the rarest marbles, and enriched with columns of granite and 
lapis lazuli ; his saloon was hung with the finest Gobelin tapes- 
try, and he slept in a bed encanopied with peacock's feathers in 
the style of Mrs. Montague. When he passed from Pall-Mall 
to La Trappe it was alv.ays in a coach, which I could suspect 
had been his ambassadorial equipage at Madrid, drawn by six 
fat unwieldly black horses, short docked and of colossal digni^ 
ty : neither was he let-s characteristic in apparel than in equip- 
age ; he had a wardrobe loaded with rich and flaring suits, each 
in itself a load to the wearer, and of these I have no doubt but 
many were coeval with his embassy above mentioned, and every 
birti:-day had added to the stock. In doing this he so contrived 
as never to put his old dresses out of countenance by any varia- 
tions in the i"ashion of the new ; in the mean time his bulk and 
corpulency gave full display to a vast expanse and profusion of 
brocade and embroidery, and this, when set off with an enor- 
mous ty -periwig and deep laced ruflles, gave the picture of an 
ancient courtier in his gala habit, or Quin in his stage dress ; 
nevertheless it must be cor.fet-sed this style, though out of date, 
was not out of character, but harmonized so well with the per- 
son of the wearer, that I remember when he made his first 
speech in the House of Peers, as Lord Melcombe, all the flash- 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 81 

fes of his wit, all the studied phrases and well-turned periods of 
his rhetoric lost their effect, simply because the orator had laid 
aside his magisterial tye, and put on a modern bag wig, wiiich 
was as much out of costume upon the broad expanse of his 
shoulders, as a cue woilld have been upon the robes of the 
Lord Chief Justice. 

Having thus dilated more than perhaps I should have done, 
upoh this distinguished person's passion for magnificence and 
display, when 1 proceed to enquire into those principles of 
good taste, which should naturally have been the accompani- 
ments and directors of that magnificence, I fear I must be com- 
pelled by truth to admit that in these he was deficient. Of 
pictures he seemed to take his estimate only by their cost ; in 
fact he was not possessed of any : V)iit I recollect his saying to 
me one day in his great saloon at Eastbury, that if he had half 
a score pictures of a thousand pounds apiece, he would gladly 
decorate his walls with them, in place of which, I am sorry to 
say he had stuck up immense patches of gilt leather, shaped in. 
to bugle horns, upon hangings of rich crimson velvet, and round 
his slate bed he displayed a carpeting of gold and silver 
embroidery, which too glaringly beti-ayed its derivation from 
coat, waistcoat and breeches, by the testimony of pockets, but- 
tonholes ai'.d loops, with other equally incontrovertible wit- 
nesses, subpoena'd from the tailor's shopboard. When he paid 
his court at St. James's to the present queen upon her nuptials, 
he approached to kiss her hand decked in an embroidered suit 
of silk with lilac M'aistcoat and breeches, the latter of which, 
in the act of kneeling down, forgot their duty, and broke loose 
from their moorings in a very indecorous and uncourtly man» 
iier. 

In the higher provinces of taste we may contemplate his 
character with more pleasure, for he had an ornamented fancy 
and a brilliant wit. He was an elegant Latin classic, and well 
versed in history ancient and modern. His favourite prose 
writer was Tacitus, and I scarce ever surprised him in his hours 
of reading without finding that author upon his table before 
him. He unders.ood him well, and descanted lipon him very 
agreeably and with much critical acumen. Mr. Dodington was 
in nothing more remarkable than in ready perspicuity and clear 
discernment of a subject thrown before him on a sudden ; take 
his first thoughts then, aad he would charm you ; give him 
time to ponder and refine, you would perceive the spn-it of his 
sentiments and the vigour of his genius evaporate by the pro- 
cess ; for though his first view of the que; tion would be a wide 
one and clear wilhal, wlien he came to exercise the subtlety of 
his disquisitorial powers upon it, he would so ingeniously dis- 
sect and break it into fractions, that ab an object, when looked 
iipon too intently for a length of time, grows mi;-.ty andcoafused, 
§0 would the question under his discussion, when the humour 



«2 MEMOIRS OF 

took him to be hyper-critical. Hence it was that hir, impromp- 
tu's in parliament were generally more admired than his studi- 
ed speeches, and his first suggestion^ in the councils of his par- 
ty better attended to than his prepared opinions. 

Being a m.an of humble birth, he seemed to have an innate 
respect for titles, and none bowed with more devotion to the 
robes and fasces of high rank and oOice. He was decidedly 
aristocratic : he paid his court to Walpole in panegyric poems, 
apologizing for hi» presumption by reminding him, that it was 
better to be pelted with roses than with rotten eggs : to Ches- 
terfield, to Winnington, Pulteney, Fox and the luminaries of 
hi.s early time he otlered up the oblations of his genius, and in- 
censed them with all the odours of his wit : in his latter days, 
and within the period of my acquaintance with him, the Earl 
of Bate in the plenitude of his power was the god of his idol- 
atry. That noble Lord was himself too m.uch a man of let- 
ters and a patron of the sciences to OvTrlook a witty head, that 
bowed so low, he accordingly put a coronet upon it, which, 
like the barren sceptre in the hand of Macbeth, merely served as 
a ticket for the coronation procession, and having nothing else 
to leave to posterity in memory of its owner, left its mark upon 
the lid of his coffin. 

During my stay at Eastbury, we were visited by the late Mr. 
Henry Fox and Mr. Alderman Beckford ; the solid good sense 
of the former, and the dashing loquacity of the latter, formed 
a striking contrast between the characters of these gentlemen. 
To Mr. Fox our host paid all that courtly homage, wliich he 
so well knew how to tim.e and where to apply ; to Beckford he 
did not observe the sam.e attentions, but in the happiest flow 
of his raillery and wit combated this intrepid talker with adrni^ 
rable effect. It was an interlude truly comic and amusing. 
Beckford loud, voluble, self-sufficient and galled by hits, which 
he could not parry and probably did not expect, laid himself 
more and more open in the vehemence of his argument ; Dod- 
ington, lolling in his chair in perfect apathy and self-command, 
dosing and even snoring at intervals in his lethargic way, broke 
out every now and then into such gleams and fla.^hes of wit and 
irony, as by the contrast of his phlegm with the other's impet- 
uosity, made his humour irresistible, and set the table in a roar. 
He was here upon his very strongest ground, for no man was 
better calculated to exemplify how true the observation is 

RldicuJum acri 
Fortius ac meVuis — 

At the same time he had his serious hours and graver topics, 
which he would handle with all due solemnity of thought and 
language, and these were to me some of the most pleasing 
hours I have passed with him, for he could keep close to his 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 83 

point, if he would, and could be not less argumentative than 
he was eloquent, when the question was of magnitude enough 
to interest him. It is with singular satisfaction I can truly say 
that I never knew him flippant upon sacred subjects. He was, 
however, generally courted and admired as a gay companion 
rather than as a grave one. 

I have said that the dowager Ladies Stafford and Hervey 
made part of our domestic society, and as the trivial amuse- 
ment of cards was never resorted to in Mr. Dodington's house, 
it was his custom in the evenings to entertain liis company with 
reading, and in this art iie excelled ; his selections, however, 
were curious, for he treated these ladies with the whole of 
Fielding's 'Jonathan Wild, in which he certainly consulted his 
own turn for irony rather than theirs for elegance, but he set 
it off with much humour after his manner, and they were po- 
lite enough to be pleased, or at least to appear as if they were. 

His readings from Shakspeare v/ere altogether as whimsical, 
for he chose his passages only where buffoonery was the char- 
acter of the scene ; one of tliese I remember was that of the 
clown, who brings the asp to Cleopatra. Ke had, however, a 
manuscript copy of Glover's Medea, which he gave us con «- 
more, for he was extremely warm in his praises of that classical 
drama, which Mrs. Yates afterwards brought upon the stage, 
and played in it with her accustomed excellence ; he did me 
also the honour to devote an evening to the reading of some 
lines, which I had hastily written to the amount of about four 
hundred, partly complimentary to him as my host, and in part 
consolatory to Lord Halifax upon the eventof his retiring from 
public ofiice ; they flattered the politics then in favour with Mr. 
Dodington, and coincided with his wishes for detaching Lord 
Haliflix from the administration of the Duke of Newcastle. 
I was not present, as may well be conceived, at this reading, 
but I confess I sate listening in the next room, and was not a 
little gratified by what I overheard. Of this manuscript I have 
long since destroyed the only copy that I had, and if I had it 
now in niy hands it would be only to consign it to the flames, 
for it was of that occasional class of poems for the day, which 
have no claim upon posterity, and in such I have not been am- 
bitious to concern myself : it served the purpose however and 
amused the moment ; it was also the tribute of my mite to the 
lares of that mansion, where the Muse of Young had dictated 
Jiis tragedy of The Revenge, and which the genius of Voltaire 
had honoured with a visit : here Glover had courted inspira- 
tion, and Thompson caught it : Dodington alhO himself had a 
lyre, but he had hung it up, and it was never very high-sound- 
ing ; yet he was something more than a mere admirer of the 
Muse. He wrote small poems v/ith great pains, and elaborate 
letters with much terseness of style, and some quaintness of 
expression : I have seen him refer tc a volume of his ov/n verses 



84 MfeMOiRS OF 

ill manuscript, but he was very shy, and I never had the peru* 
sal of it. I was rather better acquainted wiLh iiis diary, which 
since his death has been published, ard I well remember the 
temporary disgust he seemed to take, when upon hio asking 
what I would do with it, should he becjueath it to my discrC"* 
tion, I instant y replied that I would desiroy it. There was a 
third, which I i->iore coveted a sight of than either of the above, 
as it contc^iincd a miscellaneous collection of anecdotes, repar- 
tees, good sayings and hiniiorous incidents, of which he was 
part author and part compiler, and out of which he was in the 
habit of refreshing his memory, when he prepared himself to 
expect certain men of wit and pleasantry eilher at his ov/n house 
or elsew^here. Upon this practice, which he did not affect to 
conceal, he observed to me one day, that it was a compliment 
he paid to society, ivhen he submitted to steal weapons out of 
his owm armoury for their entertainment, and ingenuously ad- 
ded, that although his memory was not in general so correct as 
it had been, yet he trusted it would save him from the disgrace 
of repeating the same story to the same heaiers, or foisting it 
into conversation in the wrong place or out of time. No man 
had fewer oversights of that sort to answer for, and fewer still 
were the men, whose social talents could be compared with 
those of Mr. Dodington. 

Upon my return out of Dorsetshire, I was invited by my 
friends at Trinity College to come and ofter myself as a candi- 
date for the Lay-fellowbhip then vacant by the death of Mr. 
I'itley the Danish envoy. There are but two fellowships of 
thi, des^cription, and tiiere were several solicitors for an exemp- 
tion so desirable, but the unabated kindness of the master and 
seniors patronized my suit, and honoured me v/ith that la^t and 
most di tingui^^hed mark of their favour and protection. I did 
not hold it long, for Providence had a blessing in store for me, 
which was an effectual disqualification fi-om holdir^g any hon- 
ours on the terms of celibacy. 

About this time I wrote my first legitimate drama in five 
acts, and entitled it The Banishment of Cicero. I was led to this 
by the perusal of Middleton's account of his life, which af- 
forded me much entertainment. As the hero of a drama I was 
not happy in my choice of Cicero, and banishment is a tame in- 
cident to depend upon for the interest and catastrophe of a 
tragic plot. I knew that his philosophy had deserted him on 
this occasion, and that I could find no feature of Coriolanus in 
the character of my exile, but as I began it without any view 
of offering it to the stage, ao long as I found amusement I contin* 
ued to write. As a classical composition, which tells its story in 
fair language, and has stood the test of the press both in Eng- 
land and Ireland with the approbation of some, who were most 
competent to decide upon it, I may venture to say it was cred- 
itable to its author as a first attempt. It has been long out of 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 85 

print, and when after a period of more than forty intermediate 
year si read it (as I have now been doing) with all the impartiality 
in my power, I certainly can discover inaccuracies in the diction 
here and there, and in tiie plot an absolute inaptitude to scenic 
exhibition, yet I think I may presume to say, that as a dramat- 
ic poem for the closet it will bear examination, though I cannot 
expect that any of its readers at this time would pass so favour- 
able a judgment upon it as I was honoured with by Primate 
Stone and Bishop Warburton, from the latter of whom I re- 
ceived a letter, which I have preserved, and which I cannot 
withstand the temptation of inserting, though I am thoroughly 
conscious it bestows praises far above the merits of my humble 
work — 

To Richard Cumberland, Esq. 

Grosvenor-Square, May 15, 1767. 
Dear Sir, 

Let me thank you for the sight of a very fine dramatic Po« 
em. It is (like Mr. Mason's) much too good for a prostitute 
stage. Yesterday I received a letter from the Primate. He 
was on the point of leaving Bath for Ireland : so that my letter 
got to him just in time — It gives me great satisfaction, says he, 
that my opinion of Bishop Cumberland's grandson agrees with 
yours, &c. &c. 

I have the honour to be, 

Dear Sir, your very faithful 

And assured humble servant, 

W. Gloucester. 

It is a singular circumstance, though perhaps not a favoura- 
ble one, that in the dramatis personse of this play there is not 
one auxiliary character ; they are all principals, and such in 
respect of consequence as few authors ever brought together, 
in one point of view, for they consist of the two Consuls L. 
Calphuniius Piso and Aulus Gabinius, the Tribune P. Clodius, 
Cicero and Pomponius Atticus, Caius Piso Frugi, Terentia and 
Tullia, wife and daughter of Cicero, and Clodia sister of the 
Tribune, without one speaking attendant or interloper through- 
out the piece, except a very few words fi-om one Apollodorus. 
_ To give display to characters like these the bounds of any 
single drama would hardly serve, and of course the arrange-" 
ment was so far injudicious ; yet the author, as if he had not 
enough on his hands, goes aside to speak of Cato in the scene 
betwixt Gabinius and Clodius — ■ 

*< Gab. — Cato is still severe, is still himself : 

" Rough and imshaken in his squalid garb, 
" He told us he had long ia anguish mourn 'd, 
H 



^3 MEMOIRS OF 

" Not in a private ^but the public cause', 
" Not for the wrong of one, but wrong of all, 
" Of Liberty, of Virtue and of Rome. 
<* Clod. — No more : I sleep o'er Cato's drowsy theme. 
" He is the senate's drone, and dreams of liberty, 
" When Rome's vast empire is set up to sale, 
*' And portioned out to teach ambitious bidder 
<« In marketable lots " 

In the further progi-ess of the same scene Pom»pey is men- 
tioned, and Calphurnius Piso introduced in the following 
terms — 

" Gab.~ Oh ! who shall attempt to read 

" In Pompey's face the movements of his heart ? 
*' The same calm artificial look of state, 
" His half-clos'd eyes in self-attention wrapt, 
" Serve him alike to mask unseemly joy, 
*' Or hide the pangs of envy and revenge. 

*♦ Chd. — See, yonder your old colleague Piso comes ! 
*< But name hypocrisy and he appears. 
" How like his grandsire's monument he looks ! 
" He wears the dress of holy Numa's days, 
« The brow and beard of Zeno ; trace him home, 
<' You'll iind his house the school of vice and lu6t, 
" The foulest sink of Epicurus' sty, 
" And him the rankest swine of ail the herd." 

I find the two first acts are wound up with some couplets in 
rhyme after the manner of the middle age. It will I hope be 
pardonable if I here insert the lines, with which Clodius con- 
cludes the first act — 

" When flaming com.ets vex our frighted sphere, 
*< Though now the nations melt with awful fear, 
" From the dread omen fatal ill presage, 
" Dire plague and famine and war's wasting rage ; 
*' Jn time some brighter genius may arise, 
" And banish signs and omtns from the skies, 
" Expound the comet's nature and its cause, 
" Assign its periods and prescribe its laws, < 
« Whilst man grown wise, with his discoveries fraught, 
" Shall wonder how he needed to be taught." 

1 shall only add that the dialogue between Cicero and Atti« 
cus in the third act seems in point of poetry one of the happi- 
est eflorts of its author : in short, although this drama has not 
all the finishing of a veteran artist, yet in parts it has a warmth 
of colouring and a ctrength of expression, which might induce 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 87 

a eandid reader to augiir not unfavourably of the novice who 
composed it. 

It is here I begin more particularly to feel the weiglit of 
those difficulties, v/hich at my outset I too rashly announced 
myself prepared to in(ftt. When I review what I have been 
saying about this my first drama, and recollect what numbers 
are behind, I am almost tempted to shrink back ft-om the task, 
to which I am committed. If indeed the candour and liberali- 
ty of my readers will allow me to step out of myself, (if I may 
so term it) whilst I am speaking of myself, I have little to fear ; 
but if I must be tied down to my individuality, and not allow- 
ed my fair opinion without incurring the charge of self-conceit, 
I am in a most unenviable situation, and must either abandon 
my undertaking, or abide by the conditions of it with what 
fortitude I can muster. If, when I am professedly the record- 
er of my own writings, I am to record nothing in them or 
about them but their simple titles and the order in which they 
were written, 1 give the reader nothing more than a catalogue, 
which any m.agazinc might furnish, or the prompter's register 
as well supply ; if on the contrary I proceed to fulfil the real 
purposes of biographer and critic, ought I not to act as hon- 
estly and conscientiously in my own case, as I would in the 
instance of another person ? I think I ought : It is what the 
title of my book professes ; how I am to execute it I do not 
know, and how my best endeavours may be received I can form 
no guess. In the mean time I will strive to arm myself with 
an humble but honest mind, resolving, as far as in me lies, not 
to speak partially of my works because they are my own, nor 
slightingly against my conscience from apprehension that read- 
ers may be found to differ frora me, where my thoughts may 
seem more favourable than their's. The latter of these conse- 
quences may perhaps frequently occur, and when it does, miy 
memoirs must encounter it, and acquit themselves of it as they 
can ; for myself, it cannot be long before I am alike insensible 
to censure or applause. 

This play, of which I have been speaking, lay by me for a 
considerable time ; till Lord Halifax one day, when we were 
at Bushey Park, desired me to shew it to lilm ; he read it, and 
immediately proposed to carry it to Garrick, and recommend 
it to him for representation. Garrick was then at Hampton, 
and I went with Lord Halilax across the Park to his house. 
This was the first time I found myself in company with that 
extraordinary man. He received his noble visitor with pro- 
found obeisance, and in truth there were some claims upon his 
civility for favours and indulgences granted to him by Lord 
Halifax as Ranger of Bushey Park. I was silently attentive to 
every minute particular of this interview, and soon discovered 
the embarrassment, which the introduction of my manuscript 
occasioned ; I saw my cause was desperate, though my advo» 



88 MEMOIRS OF 

•cate was sanguine, and in truth the first effort of a raw author 
did not promise much to the purpose of the manager. He 
took it, however, with all possible respect, and promi .ed an 
attentive perusal, but those tell-tale features, so miraculously 
gifted in the art of assumed emotions, could not mask their re- 
al ones, and I predicted to Lord Halifax, as we returned to 
the lodge, that I had no expectation of my play being accept- 
ed. A day or two of what might scarce be called suspense 
confirmed this prediction, when Mr. Garrick having stated his 
despair of accommodating a play on such a plan to the pur- 
poses of the stage, returned the manuscript to Lord Halifax 
with many apologies to his Lordship, and some few qualifying 
words to its author, which certainly was as much as in reason 
could be expected from him, though it did not satisfy the 
patron of the play, who warmly resented his non-compliance 
with his wishes, and for a length of time forbore to live in hab- 
its of his former good neighbourhood with him. 

When I published this play, which I soon after did, I was 
conscious that I published Mr. Garrick's justification for refus- 
ing it, and I made no mention of the circumstances above 
stated. 

George Ridge, Esquire, of Kilmiston, in the county of Hants, 
had two sons and one daughter by Miss Brooke, neice to my 
grandfather Bentley ; with this family we had lived as friends 
and relations in habits of the greatest intimacy. Jt was upon 
an excursion, as I have before related, to this gentleman's 
house that I founded my school-boy poem written at Bury, 
and our families had kept up an interchange of annual visits 
for a course of time. From these meetings I had been for sev- 
eral years excluded by my avocations to college or London, 
till upon Mr. Ridge's coming to town accompanied by his wife 
and daughter, and taking lodgings in the near neighbourhood 
of Mount- Street, where I held my melancholy abode, I was 
kindly entertained by them, and found so many real charms in 
the modest manners and blooming beauty of the amiable 
daughter, that I passed every hour I could command in her 
society, and devoted all my thoughts to the attainment of that 
happiness, which it was in her power to bestow upon my fu- 
ture days. As soon therefore as I obtained, through the pat- 
ronage of Lord Halifax, a small establishment as Crown -Agent 
for the province of Nova Scotia, I began to hope the object I 
aspired to was within my reach, when upon a visit she made 
with her parents to mine at Fulham, I tendered my addresses, 
and had the unspeakable felicity to find them accepted, and 
sanctioned by the consent of all parties concerned ; thus I be- ' 
came possessed of one, whom the virtues of her heart and the 
charms of her person had effectually endeared to me, and on 
the 19th day of February 1759, (being my birth-day )_ I was 
married by my father in the church of Kilmiston to Elizabeth., 
only daughter of George and Elizabeth Ridge. 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 89 

Lord Halifax, upon some slight concessions from the Duke of 
Newcastle had reassumed his office of First Lord of Trade and 
Plantations, and I returned with my wife to Fulham, taking 
a house for a short time in Dirke-Street, Westminster, and af- 
terwards in Abington Buildings. 

In the following year,' upon the death of the king, administra- 
tion it is well known took a new shape, and all eyes were turned 
towards the Earl of Bute, as dispenser of favours and awarder 
of promotions. Mr. Dodington, whom I had visited a second 
time at Eastbury with my wife and her father Mr. Ridge, ob- 
tained an English peerage, and Lord Halifax was honoured 
with the high office of Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, and was 
preparing to open his majesty's first parliament in that king- 
dom : I had reason to believe myself at this time very much in 
his confidence, and in the conduct of a certain pi-ivate transac- 
tion, which I am not called upon to explain, I had done him 
faithful service ; happy for him it would have been, and the 
prevention of innumerable troubles and vexations, if my zeal- 
ous efforts had been permitted to take effect, but a fatal pro- 
pensity had again seized possession of him, and probably the 
more strongly for the interruption it had received — but of this 
enough. 

His family was now to be formed upon an establishment 
suitable to his high office. In these arrangements there was 
much to do, and I was fully occupied. Some few persons of 
obscure chai\icters were pressed upon him for subordinate sit- 
uations from a quarter, where I had no communication or con- 
nexion ; but I had the satisfaction to see his old and faithful 
friend Doctor Crane prepare himself to head the list of his 
ciiaplains, and Doctor Oswald, afterwards Bishop of Raphoe, 
with my good father completed that department. I obtained 
a situation for a gentleman, who had married my eldest sister, 
but what gave me peculiar satisfaction was to have it in my 
power to gratify the wishes of one of the best and bravest 
young officers of his time, Captain William Ridge, brother to 
my wife. He had served the whole war in America with dis- 
tinguished reputation ; had been shot and carried off the field 
in the fatal affair of Ticonderoga, and was now returned with 
honourable wounds and the praises and esteem of his general 
and brother officers. This amiable, this excellent friend, whose 
heart was as it were my ovv^n, and whose memory will be ever 
dear to me, I caused to be put upon the staff of Aids-dc-Camp,. 
and had the happiness of making him one of my family during 
the whqle time of my residence in Dublin Castle, as Ulster Sec- 
retary. 

_ William Gerard Hamilton, a name well known, had nego- 

ciated himself into the office of Chief Secretary. I need say no 

more than that he did not owe this to the choice of Lord Hali- 

fa:j J of course it was not easy for that gentleman to find him- 

H 2 



00 MEMOIRS OF 

self in the confidence of his principal, to whom he was little 
known, and in the first instance not altogether acceptable. I 
do not think he took much pains to conquer first impressions, 
and recommend himself to the confidence of Lord Halifax : it 
is certain he did not possess it, and the consequence was, that 
I, who held the secondary post of Ulster Secretary, became in- 
volved in business of a nature, that should not in the course of 
oflSce have belonged to me. Affairs of this sort, which I did 
not court, and had no right to be concerned in, made my situ- 
ation very delicate and not a little dangerous, whilst at the same 
time the entire superintendence of Lord Halifax's private finan- 
ces, then very far from being in a flourishing condition, was a 
task, which no prudent man would covet, yet such an one as 
for his sake I made no scruple to undertake. It was his lot to 
succeed the Duke of Bedford, and his high spirit would not 
suffer him to sink upon the comparison ; I found him therefore 
resolute to start on his career with great magnificence, and 
leave behind him all attentions to expense. All that was in my 
power I did with unwearied diligence and attention to his inter- 
est, inspecting his accounts and paying his bills every week to 
the minutest article. I put his Green Cloth upon a liberal, but 
regulated, establishment ; I placed a faithful and well experi- 
enced servant of my father's at the head of his stables and 
equipages, and gave charge of the household articles to his prin- 
cipal domestic, of whose honesty he had many years experi- 
ence. 

I had published my tragedy of The Banishment of Cicero, 
by Mr. J. Walter, at Chai-ing-Cross, upon quarto paper in a 
handsome type ; I found it pirated and published in a sixpen- 
ny edition at Dublin, fi-om the press of George Faulkner of im- 
mortal memory : if he had subjoined a true and faithful list of 
errata, I doubt if he could have afforded it at the price. I also 
upon the king's accession composed and published a poem ad- 
dressed to the young sovereign, in which I attempted to delin- 
eate the character of the people he was to govern, and the prin- 
ciples of that conduct, which, if pursued, would ensure their 
attachment, and establish his own happiness and glory. This 

1 wrote in blank verse ; it was published by Mr. Dodsley, and 
I did not give my name to it. Of the extent of its circulation 
I cannot speak, neither did I make any search into the reviews 
of that time for the character, good or ill, which they thought 
fit to give it, 

I had taken lea,ve of Lord Melcombe the day preceding the 
coronation, and found him before a looking-glass in his new 
robes practising attitudes and debating within him. elf upon the 
most graceful mode of carrying his coronet in the procession. 
He was in high glee with his fresh and blooming honours, and 
\ left him in ihe act of dictating a billet to Lady Hervey, appris- 
ing her that a young lord was coming to throw himself at her 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 91 

feet. He conjured me to keep my Lord Lieutenant firmly aft 
tached to Lord Bute, and we parted. 

Here, however, I must take leave to pause upon a period in 
the life of my uncle Mr. Bentley, when fortune smiled upon 
him, and his genius was drawn forth into exertion by the pat- 
ronage of Lord Bute. Through my intimacy with Mr. Dod- 
ington I had been the lucky instrument of openingthat channel, 
which for a time at least brought him aiflueuce, comfort and 
consideration. There was not a man of literary talents then in 
the kingdom, who stood so high and so deservedly in fame and 
favour with the Premier as Mr. Bentley ; and though, when 
that great personage went out of office, my uncle lost every 
place of profit, that could be taken from him, he continued to 
enjoy a pension of five hundred pounds per annum, in v/hich 
his widow had her life, and received it many years after his 
decease. 

Lord Bute had all the disposition of a MecEenas, and fondly 
hoped he would be the auspicious instrument of opening an 
Augustan reign ; he sent out his runners upon the search for 
men of talents, and Dodington was perfectly reconciled to the 
honour of being his provider in that laudable pursuit, for which 
no man was better qualified. He was not wanting in intuition 
to discern what the powers of Bentley's genius were, and none 
could better point out the purposes, to wiiich they might be 
usefully directed. Opposition was then beginning to look up, 
and soon felt the sharp point of Bentley's pen in one of the 
keenest and wittiest satires, extant in our language. Lord 
Temple, Wilkes, and others of the party were attacked with 
unsparing asperity, and much classical acumen. Churchill, the 
Dryden of his age, and indisputably a man of a first-rate genius, 
was too candid not to acknowledge the merit of ihe poem, and 
when he declined taking up the gauntlet so pointedly thrown 
down to him, it was not because he held his challenger in con- 
tempt. It was this poem, that brought an accumulation of fa- 
vours on its author, but I don't know that he ever had an inter- 
view with the bestower of them, and I am rather inclined to 
think they never met. About the same time rny uncle com- 
posed his witty but eccentric drama of The Wishes^ in which he 
introduces the speaking Harlee]uin after the manner of the Ital- 
ians. This curious production, after being circulated in man-- 
uscript, admired and applauded by all who had seen it, and 
those the very party which led the taste of the time undea: the 
auspices of Lord Bute, was privately rehearsed at Lord Mel- 
combe's villa of La Trappe. It was oa a beautiful summer's 
evening when it was recited upon the terrace on the banks of 
the Thames, by Obrien, Miss. Elliot, Mrs. Haughton and some 
few others under the management of Foote and Murphy, whp 
attended on the occasion. At this rehearsal, there was present 
-r-a youth unknown to fame — whp was understood to be prQ-^ 



,92 MEMOIRS OF 

tected by Lord Bute, and came thither in a hackney coach witli 
Mrs. Haughton. This gentleman was of the party at the sup- 
per with which the evening's entertainment concUided ; ne 
modestly resigned the conversation to, those, who were more 
disposed to carry it on, whilst it was only in the contemplation 
of an intelligent countenance that we could form any conjec- 
tui'e as to that extraordinary gift of genius, which in course of 
time advanced him to the Great Seal of the kingdom and the 
Earldom of Roaslyn. 

Foote, Murpliy and Obrien were then joint conductors of 
the summer theatre, and performed their plays upon the stage 
of Drury Lane, and hei-e they brought out The Wishes., which 
had now been so much the topic of conversation, that it drew 
all the wit and fashion then in town to its first representation. 
The brilliancy of its dialogue, and the reiterated strokes of 
point and repartee kept the audience in good humour with the 
leading acts, and seemed toaugur favourably for the conclusion, 
till when the last oitY^Q Three Wishes produced the ridicidoiis 
catastrophe of the hanging of Harlequin in full viev/ of tlie au- 
dience, my uncle, the author, then sitting by me, v/hispered in 
my ear — " If they don't damn thi:-, they deserve to be damn'd 
themselves — " and whilst he was yet speaking the roar began, 
and The Wishes were irrevocably condemned. Mr. Hanis 
some years after gave it a second cUance tipon his stage : the 
judgment of the public could not take away the merit of the 
poet, but it decided against his success. Upon the hint of this 
play, and the entertainment at I^.a 'Irappe, where Foote had 
been a gr.est, that wicked wit took measure of his host, and 
founded his satirical drama of The Patron — in short he feasted, 
flattered and lampooned. 

Mr. Bentley also wrote a very elegant poem, and addressed 
it as an epistle to Lord Melcombe : it was in my opinion a most 
exquisite composition, in no respect inferior to his satire, but 
for reasons I could never understand, nor even guess, it was 
coolly received by Mtkombe, and stopt with him. If that 
poem is in the hands of any of Mr. Eentley's family, it is much 
to be regretted that they withhold it from the public, though ail 
that was then temporj;ry is now long past and forgotten. 

What may be the nature or amount of the manuscripts, 
which my uncle may have left behind him, I do not know : I 
can speak only of two dramas ; one of these entitled Philoda- 
mus has been given to the public by Mr. Harris, and Henderson 
performed the character, tbat gives its name to the play. The 
. ingenious author always wrote for the reader, he did not study 
hov/ to humour the spectator : Philodamus has much of the 
old cast in its style, with a considerable portion of originality 
and a bold vein of humour running through it, occasionally 
intermixed even with the pathos of the scene, which in a mod- 
ern composition, professing itself to be a tragedy, is a perilous 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 9a 

experiment. Such it proved to Piiilodamus : its very best pas- 
sages in perusal vv'ere its weakest points in representation, and 
it may be truly said it was ruined by its virtues : but in the 
gallerii?s of our thealves 1;lie Graces have no seats, and he that 
writes to the populace must not borrow the pen of the author 
of Philodamus. Poet Gray wrote a long and elaborate critique 
upon this dram,^, v/hich I saw, and though his flattery v/as out- 
rageously pedaJitic, yet the incense of praise from author to au* 
thor is always sweet, and perhaps not the less acceptable on 
account of its being so seldom offered up. The other drama 
on the Genoeie Conspiracy I saw in its unfinished state, and 
can only say that I was struck by certain passages, but cannot 
speak of it as a whole. 

When the ceremony of the coronation was over, the Lord 
Lieutenant set out for Ireland with a numerous cavalcade. I 
was now the father of two infant children, a daughter and a 
son J these I left with their grandmother Mrs. Ridge, and was 
accompanied by my wife, though in a state ill calculated to en- 
dure the rough roads by land, and the more rough passage by 
sea : my father, mother and sisters were with us in the yacht ; 
they took a house in Dublin, and I was by office an inhabitant 
of the castle, and lodged in very excellent and commodious 
apartments. 

The speech of the Lord Lieutenant upon the opening of the 
session is upon record. It was generally esteemed a very bril« 
liant composition. His graceful person and impressive manner 
of delivery set it off to its best advantage, and all things seem» 
ed to augur well for his success. When I was called in jointly 
with Secretary Hamilton to take the project and rough copy of ' 
this speech into consideration, I could not help remarking the 
extraordinary efforts, which that gentleman made to engraft his 
own very peculiar style upon the sketch before him ; in this I 
sometimes agreed with him, but more commonly opposed him, 
till Lord Hahfax, whose patience began to be exhausted, no 
longer submitted his copy to be dissected, but took it to him- 
self with such alterations as he saw fit to adopt, and those but 
few. I must candidly acknowledge ttiat at tunes when I have 
heard people searching for internal evidence in the style of Jun- 
ius as to the author of tho^e famous letters, I have called to 
recollection this circumstance, which I have now related, and 
occasionally said that the style of Junius bore a strong resem- 
blance to what I had observed of the style of Secretary Hamil- 
ton ; beyond this I never had the least grounds for conjecture, 
nor any clue to lead me to the discovery of that anonymous 
writer beyond what I have alluded to. 

I remember a conversation he held v\ ith m.e some time before 
we left England on the subject of Mr. Edmund Burke, whom 
he had then attached to himself, and for v/hom he wished me 
tP assist in projecting some establishment. I had then nevci; 



9-f MEMOIRS OF 

seen that eminent person, nor did I meet him till after my arri- 
val in Dublin, when I had merely the opportunity of introdu- 
cing myself to liim in passing through tlie apartment, -where he 
was in attendance upon Mr. Hamilton. He had indeed his for- 
tune to make, but he ^va^; not disposed to make it by ,1ny means 
but such as perfectly accorded with his feelings and )hs honour ; 
for when Mr. Hamilton contrived to accomimodate him by some 
private manceuvre, which I am not correctly possessed of, he 
saw occasion in a short time after his acceptance of it to throw 
it up, and break from all connexion with that gentleman and 
his politics. With the Lord Lieutenant he had little, if any, 
coiTespondence or acquaintance, for though Lord Halifax's in- 
tuition could not have failed to discover the merits of Mr. Burke, 
and rightly to have appreciated them, had they ever come cor- 
dially into contact, it was not from the quarter, in which he 
was then placed, that favour and promotion were to be looked 
for. . 

Without entering upon the superannuated politics of that 
time, it is enough to say that the king's business v/as carried 
through the session with success, and when the vote was passed 
for augmenting the revenue of the Lord Lieutenant, and set- 
tling ii at the standard to which it is now fixed, he accepted 
and passed it in favour cf his successorSfbut peremptorily re- 
jected it fcr himself. At this very time I had i sued to the 
amount of twenty thousand pounds expended in ofixe, whilst 
he had been receiving about twelve, and I know not where that 
man could have been found, to whom those exceedings were 
more severely embarraseing than to this disinterested personage ; 
.but in this case he acted entirely from the dictates of his own 
high spirit, scarce deigning to lend an ear to the remonstrances 
even of Doctor Crane, a.nd taking his measures with such rapid- 
ity, as to preclude all hesitation or debate. 

His populaiity however was so establi-hed by this high-mind- 
ed proceeding, that upon his depart'n-e from Irela.id ail par- 
ties seem.ed to unite in applauding !»is conduct and invoking 
his return : the shore was thronged with crowds of people, 
that followed him to the water's edge, and the sea was in a 
m-mner covered v/jth boats and vessels, that accompanied the 
yacht through the bay, studious to pay to their popular chief 
governor every valedictory honour, that their zeal and attention 
pould devise. 

The patronage of the Lord *Lieutenant was at that time so 
extremely circumscribed, that except in the church and army 
few expectants could have been put in possession of their wish- 
es, had not my under-secretary Mr. Rostingrave discovered a 
number of lapsed patents, "that had laid dormant in my office 
for a length of time, neither allowances nor perquisites being 
annexed to them. When a pretty considerable number of these 
patents were collected, and a list of them made out, I laid 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 95 

them before the Lord Lieutenant for his disposal in suchman- 
ner as he saw fit. He at once discerned the great accommoda- 
tion they would afford him, and very gladly availed himself of 
them, obtaining grants 'of parliament for each respectively, 
which, though virtually pensions, were not so glaringly obnox- 
ious, nor were any of them in fact such absolute sinecures, some 
duty being attached to every one of them. They were certain- 
ly a very seasonable accession to his patronage, and I make no 
doubt a very acceptable one to the circumstances of thoae, on 
whom he bestowed them. I sought no share m the spoil, but 
rather wished to stand correctly clear of any interested pari in 
the transaction ; some small thing, however, I asked and ob- 
tained for my worthy second Mr. Roseingrave, who had all 
the merit of the manueuvre, and many other merics of a much 
superior sort, for which I sincerely esteemed him, and, till his 
death put an end to our coi-reapondence, preserved a con- 
stant interchange of friendly sentiments, and at times of visits, 
when either he came to England, or I passed over to Ireland. 

And here, in justice to myself, 1 must take ci-edit for a disin- 
terestedness whicii never could be betrayed into the acceptance 
of any thing, however covered or contrived (and many were the 
devices then ingeniously practised upon me) which delicacy 
could possibly intei-pret as a gratuity, whether tendered as an 
acknowledgment for favours past, or as an inducement for ser- 
vices to come. As I went to Ireland so I returned from it, per- 
fectly clean-handed, not having profited my small fortune in the 
value of a single shilling, e>:.cept from the fair income of my of- 
fice arising from the established fees upon wool-iicences, wnich 
netted, as well as I can recollect, about sool. per annum, and 
did not clear my extraordinary expenses. 

Towards the close of the session the Lord Lieutenant took 
occasion one morning, when I waited upon him with his pi-i- 
vate accounts, to express his satisfaction m my services, adding 
that he wished to mark his particular approbation of me by ob- 
taining for me the rank of baronet : a ticie, he observed, very fit 
in his opinion for me to hold, as my father would in all probabil- 
ity be a bishop, and had a competent estate, which would de- 
scend to me. I confess it was not the sort of favour I expected, 
and struck me as a gaudy insubstantial otier, which as a mere 
addition to my naine without any to my circumstances, was, > 
(as my friend Isted afterwards described it) a mere mouthful of 
moonshine. I received the tender notwithstanding with all due 
respect, and only desired time to turn it in my thoughts. I was 
now the father of three children, for I had a daughter born in 
the castle, and when I found my father and my whole family 
adverse to the proposal, I aignified to Lord Halifax my wish to 
decline the honour he had been pleased to offer to me: 1 certainly 
did not make my court to him by.this refusal,and vanity,if I had 
listened to it, would in this instance have taught me better pol- 



96 MEMOIRS OF 

icy, but to en- on the side of moderation and humility is an era 
ror that ought not to be repented of ; though I have reason to 
think from ensuing circumstances, that it contributed to weak- 
en an interest, whicli so many eagines were at work to extin- 
•guish. In fact I plainly saw it was not for me to expect any 
lasting tenure in the share I then possesbcd of favour, unless I 
kept it up by sacrifices I was determined not to make ; in short I 
had not that worldly wisdom, which could prevail with me to pay 
my homage in that quarter, from v»'hich my patron derived his 
ruin, and purchase by disgraceful attentions a continuance of 
that claim to his protection and regard, which I had earned by 
long and faithful services for ten years past, (the third part of 
my life) without intermission, and for the longer half of that 
time without consideration or reward. 

As sure as ever my history brings me to the mention of that 
fatal step, which took me out of the path I was in, and turn- 
ed me from the prosecution of those peaceful studies, to 
which I was so cordially devoted, and which were leading me 
to a profession, wherein some that went before me had distin- 
guished themselves with such credit, so sure am I to feel at my 
heart a pang, that woimds me with regret and self-reproach 
for having yielded to a delusion at the inexperienced age of 
nineteen, since wliich I have seen more than half a century go 
by, every day of which has only served to strengthen more and 
more the full conviction of my eiTor. 

Hamilton, who in the English parliament got the nick-name 
of Single-speech, spoke well, but not often, in the Irish House 
of Commons. He had a promptitude of thought, and a rapid 
flow of well-conceived matter, with many other requisites, 
that only seemed waiting for opportunities to establish his 
reputation as an orator. He had a striking countenance, a 
graceful carriage, great self-possession and personal courage : 
he was not easily put out of his way by any of those unac- 
commodating repugnances, that men of weaker nerves or 
moi-e tender consciences might have stumbled at, or been 
checked by ; he could mask the passions, that were natural to 
him, and assume thoye, that did not belong to him ; he was in- 
defatigable, meditative, mysterious ; his opinions were the re- 
sult of long labour and much reflection, but he had the art of set- 
ting them forth as if they were the starts of ready genius and a 
quick perception : he had as much seeming steadiness as a parti- 
san could stand in need of, and all the real flexibility, that could 
suit his purpose, or advance his interest. He would fain have 
retained his connexion with Edmund Burke, and associated him 
to his politics, for he well knew the value of his talents, but in 
that object he was soon disappointed : the genius of Burke was 
of too high a cast to endure debasement. 

The bishopric of Elphin became vacant, and was offered to 
Doctor Crane, who, though moderately beneficed in England, 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 97 

withstood the temptation of that valuable mitre, and disinter- 
estedly declined it. This was a decisive instance of the purity 
as well as moderation of his mind, for had he not disdained all 
ideas of negociation in church preferments, he might have ac- 
cepted the see of Elphin, and traded with it in England, as oth- 
ers have done both before and since his time. He was not a 
man of this sort ; he returned to his prebendal house at West- 
minster in the little cloystcrs, and some years before his death 
resided in his parsonage house at Sutton, a living given him by 
Sir Roger Burgoyne, near to which I had a house, from which I 
paid him frequent visits, and with unspeakable concern saw- 
that excellent man resign himstlf with patience truly Christian 
to the dreadful and tormenting visitation of a cancer in his face. 
I was at my house at Tetworth near Sutton in Bedfordshire, 
when he rode over to me one morning, and complained of a 
soreness on his lip, which he said he had hurt in shaving him- 
self; it was hardly dicernible, but alas ! it contained the seeds 
of that dire disease, and fiom that moment kept spreading over 
his face with excruciating agony, which allowed him no repose, 
till it laid him in his grave. 

By his refusal of Elphin, Doctor Oswald was promoted to an 
inferior bishopi'ic, and my father thereby stood next upon the 
roll for a mitre : in the mean time he formed his friendships in 
Ireland with some of the most respectable characters, and 
made a visit, accompanied by my mother, to Doctor Pocock, 
Bishop of Ossory, at his episcopal house at Kilkenny. That 
celebrated oriental traveller and author was a man of mild man- 
ners and primitive simplicity : having given the world a full 
detail of his researches in Egypt, he seemed to hold himself 
excused from saying any thing more about them, and observed 
in general an obdurate taciturnity. In his carnage and deport- 
ment he appearec" . ^ have contracted something of the Arab 
character, yet th.'^'°" as no austerity in his silence, and though 
his air was solemn^^'^ s temper was serene. When we v/ere on 
our road to lick'"-* , I sav/ from the windows of the inn at Da- 
ventry a cavalcaue of horsemen approaching on a gentle trot, 
headed by an c'derly chief in clerical attire, who was followed 
by five servanis at distances geometrically measured and most 
precisely maintained, and who upon entering the inn proved to 
be this distinguished prelate, conducting his horde with the 
phlegmatic patience of a Scheik. 

I found the state of society in Dublin very different from 
what I had observed in London : the professions more intermixt, 
and rank; more blended ; in the great houses I met a promiscu- 
ous assembly of politicians, lawyers, soldiers and divines ; the 
profusion of their tables struck me with surprise ; nothing that 
I had seen in England could rival the Polish magnificence of 
Primate Stone, or the Parisian luxury of Mr. Clements. The 
style of Dodington was stately, but there was a watchful and 
I 



98 MEMOIRS OF 

well-regulated economy over all, that here seemed out of sight 
and out of mind. The professional gravity of character main- 
tained by our English dignitaries was here laid aside, and in 
several prelatical houses the mitre was so mingled with the cock- 
ade, and the glass circulated so freely, that I perceived the spir- 
it of convivality was by no means excluded from the pale of the 
church of Ireland. 

Primate Stone was at that time in the zenith of his power ; 
he had a great following ; his intellect was as strong as ever, 
but his constitution was in its wane. I had frequent occasions 
to resort to him, and much reason to speak highly of his can- 
dour and condescension. No m.an faced difficulties with great- 
er courage, none overcame them with more address ; he was 
formed to hold command over turbulent spirits in tempestuous 
seasons ; for if he could not absolutely rule the passions of men, 
he could artfully rule men by the medium of their passions ; he 
had great suavity of manners when points were to be carried by 
insinuation and finesse ; but if authority was necessarily to be 
enforced, none could hold it with a higher hand : he was an ele- 
gant scholar, a consummate politician, a very fine gentleman, 
and in every character seen to more advantage than in that, 
which according to his sacred function should have been his 
chief and only object to sustain, 

i Dr. Robinson, v>as by Lcrd Halifax translated/r( m the sec of 
Ferns to that of Kildare. I had even then a presentiraent that 
we were forwarding his advancement towards the primacy, and 
persuaded myself that the successor of Stone v/ould be found in 
the person of the Bishop of Kildare. Of him I shall probably 
have occasion to speak moj-e at large hereafter, for the acquaint- 
ance, which I had the honour to form with him at this time, 
was in the further course of it ripened into friendship and an 
intimacy, which he never suftercd to a'?^^ • and I prized too 
highly to neglect. °y, " 

I made but one short excursion from Du!>iin, and this was to 
the house of that gallant ofiicer Colonel Ford, v,ho perished in 
his passage to India, and who was married to a relation of my 
wife. Having established his fame in the battle of Plassey and 
several other actions, he seated himself at Johnstown in the 
centre of an inveterate bog, but the soil, such as it was, had the 
recommendation to him of being his native soil, and all its de- 
formities vanished from his sight. 

I had more than once the amusement of dining at the house 
of that most singular being George Faulkner, where I found 
myself in a company so miscellaneously and whimsically classed, 
that it looked more like a fortuitous concourse of oddities, 
jumbled together from all ranks, orders and descriptions, than 
the effect of invitation and design. Description must fall short 
in the attempt to con^ ey any sketch of that eccentric being to 
those, vfho have not read him in the notes of Jephson, or seen 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 99 

him in the mimickry of Foote, who in his portraits of Faulkner 
found the only sitter, whom his extravagant pencil could not 
caricature; for he had a solemn intrepidity of egotism, and a 
rlaring contempt of absurdity, that fairly outfaced imitation, 
and like Garrick's Od? on Shak-pcare, which Johnson said 
" defied criticism," so did George in the original spirit of his 
own perfect buffoonery defy caricature. He never deigned to 
join in the laugh he had raised, nor seemed to have a feeling of 
the ridicule he had provoked ; at the same time that he was 
pre-eminently and by preference the butt and buffoon of the 
ccm.pany, he could find openings and opportunities for hits of 
retaliation, vv^hich were such left-handed thrusts as few could 
parry : nobody could foresee where they would fall, nobody 
of course was fore-armed, and as there was in his calculation 
but one super-eminent character in the kingdom of Ireland, and 
he the printer of the Dublin Journal, rank was no shield against 
George's arrows, which flew where he listed, and fixed or mis- 
sed as chance directed, he cared not about consequences. He 
gave good meat and excellent claret in abundance ; I sate at his 
table once from dinner till two in the morning, whilst George 
swallowed immense potations with one solitary sodden straw- 
berry at the bottom of the glass, which he said was recommend- 
ed to him by his doctor for its cooling properties. He never 
lost his recollection or equilibrium the whole time, and was in 
excellent foolery ; it was a singular coincidence, that there was 
a person in company, who had received his reprieve at the gal- 
lows, and the very judge who had passed sentence of death up- 
on him. This did not in the least disturb the harmony of the 
society, nor embarrass any human creature present. All went 
off perfectly smooth, and George, adverting to an original por- 
trait of Dean Swift, v/hich hung in his room, told us abundance 
of excellent and interesting anecdotes of the Dean and himself 
wnth minute precision and an importance irresistibly ludicrous. 
There was also a portrait of his late lady Mrs. Faulkner, which 
either made the painter or George a liar, for it was frightfully 
ugly, W'hiist he swore she wms the most divine object in creation; 
in the mean time he took credit to himself for a few deviations 
in point of gallantry, and asserted that he broke his leg in flying 
from the fury of an enraged husband, whilst Foote constantly 
maintained that he fell down an area with a tray of meat up- 
on his shoulder, when he was journeyman to a butcher : I believe 
neither of them spoke the truth, George prosecuted Foote for 
lampooning him on the stage of Dublin ; his counsel the prime 
Serjeant compared him to Socrates and his libeller to Aristo- 
phanes ; this I believe was all that George got by his course of 
law ; but he was told he had the best of the bargain in the 
comparison, and sate down contented under the shadow of his 
laurels. In process of time he became an alderman ; I paid 
iny court to him in that character, but I thought he was rather 



100 MEMOIRS OF 

marred than mended by his dignity. George grew grave and 
sentimental, and sentiment and gravity sate as ill upon George, 
as a gown and a square cap v>'Ould upon a monkey. 

Mrs. Dancer, then in her prime, and very beautiful, was 
acting with Barry at the Crow-Sireet theatre, and Miss Elliot, 
who had played in Mr. Benlley'i JVishes, came over with the 
recommendation of Mr. Arthur Muiphy, who interested him- 
self much in her success : this young uneducated girl had 
great natural talents, and played the part of Maria in her pat- 
ron's farce of The Citizen, with admirable spirit and eft'cct. 
The whimsical mock-opera of Midas v\'as first brought upon 
the Dublin stage in this season, and had all the protection, 
which the castle patronage could bestow, and that could not 
be more than its pleasantry and originality deserved. 

When the time for our departure was in near approach, the 
Lord Lieutenant expressed his wish that I would take the con- 
duct of his daughters and the ladies of his family on their jour- 
ney home, whilst he went forward, and would expect us at 
Bushey Park. Circum.stanced as I was, I could not undertake 
the charge of his family without abandoning that of my own, 
which I did with the utmost regret, though my brother-in-law. 
Captain Ridge, kindly oiTered himself to conduct his sister 
and her infant to the place of their destination, and according- 
ly embarked with them in a pacquet for Holyhead some days 
before my departure. Painful as this parting was, I had yet 
the consolation of surrendering those objects of my affection 
to the care of him, whom I would have chosen out of all men 
living for the trust. They were to repose for a few days at a 
house called Tyringham, within a short distance of Newport 
Pagnell, which I had taken of the heir of the Bakewell family. 
It was a large and venerab-r; old mansion, situated on the banks 
of the river Ouse, and had caught my eye as I was on my road 
to Ireland : understanding it was furnished and to be let, I 
crossed the river, and in a few minutes conversation with the 
steward agreed to take it, and in this I was in some degree bi- 
assed by the consideration of its near neighbourhood to Lord 
Halifax, at Horton. It was a hasty bargain, but one of the 
cheapest ever made, and I had no occasion at any time after to 
repent of it. 

When we arrived at Bushey Park, and I had surrendered 
my charge to Lord Halifax, I lost no further time, but hasten- 
ed to my wife, who was then in Hampshire at her father's, 
where the children we left behind us had been kindly harbour- 
ed ; them indeed I found in perfect health, but that and every 
other joy attendant on my return was at once extinguished in 
the afflicting persuasion, that I had only arrived in time to take 
a last leave of my dying wife, who was then in the crisis of a 
most violent fever, exhausted, senseless and scarce alive. Ma«» 
ny florid writers would seize the opportunity of describing 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 101 

scenes of this sort ; I shall decline it. It was my happy lot to 
see her excellent constitution surmount the shock, and to wit- 
ness her recovery in her native air by the blessing of Providence 
and the unwearied attentions of her hospitable parents. As 
soon as she was re-established in her health, we removed with 
our children to Tyringham, where my wife had left her infant 
fellow-traveller in the care of an excellent young woman, who 
from the day of our marriage to the day of her death lived with 
me and my family, faithfully attached and strictly fulfilling eve- 
ry part of her duty. 

A short time before Lord Halifax quitted the government of 
Ireland, in which he was succeeded by the Duke of Northum- 
berland, a vacancy happened in the bench of bishops, and my 
father was promoted to the see of Clonfert. This vacancy fell 
so close upon the expiration of Lord Halifax's government, 
that great efforts were made and considerable interest exerted 
to wrest the nomination out of his Lordship's patronage, and 
throw it into the disposal of his successor ; it was pi'oposed 
to recompense my father by preferment of some other descrip- 
tion ; but this was firmly resisted by Lord Halifax, and the 
mitre was bestowed upon one, who wore it to the last hour of 
his life with unblemished reputation, honoured, beloved, and 
I may say (almost without a figure) adored by the people of 
Ireland for his benevolence, hh equity, his integrity and every 
virtue, that could make him dear to his fellow-creatures, and 
acceptable to his Creator. 

The expectant, v/ho, if I was rightly informed, would have 
obtained the bishopric of Clonfert in the event of my father's 
being deprived of it, has had reason to felicitate himself on his 
disappointment, if, as I just now observed, I am not mistaken 
in believing Doctor Markham was the person, whose happy 
destiny sent my father to Ireland, and reserved him for better 
fortune at home, and higher dignities most worthily bestowed 
and most honourably enjoyed. 

My father in the mean time had returned to his vicarage of 
Fulham, and sate down without repining at the issue of his ex- 
pedition, which now seemed to close upon him without any 
prospect of success, when I hastened to impart to him the in- 
telligence I had just received from Secretary Hamilton, whom 
I had accidentally crossed upon in Parliament-Street. He re- 
ceived it in his calm manner, modestly remarking, that his tal- 
ents were not turned to public life, nor did he foresee any ma- 
terial advantages likely to accrue to such as belonged to him 
from his promotion to an Irish bishopric ; it was not consist- 
ent, he said, with his principles to avail himself of the patron- 
age in that country to the exclusion of the clergy of his diocese, 
and of course he must deny himself the gratification of serv- 
ing his friends and relations in England, if any such should 
solicit him. This did happen in more instances than one, and 

12 



102 MEMOIRS OF 

I can witness with what pain he withstood requests, which he 
would have been so happy to have complied with ; but his con- 
science was a rule to him, and he never deviated from it in a 
single instance. He further observed in the course of this con- 
versation with me what I have before noticed in my remarks 
upon Bishop Cumberland's appropriation of his episcopal reve- 
nue, and, alluding to that rule as laid down by his grandfather, 
expressed his approbation of it, and said, that though he 
could not aspire to the most distant comparison with him in 
greater matters, yet he trusted he should not be found degene- 
rate in principle ; and certainly he did not trust in himself 
without reason. In conclusion he said, that having visited Ire- 
land, and formed many pleasing and respectable connexions 
there, he would quietly wait the event without embairassing 
Lord Halifax with any solicitation, and when he thought he 
perceived me in a disposition to be not quite so tranquil and 
sedentary in the business, he positively forbade me to make any 
stir, or give Lord Halifax any trouble on his account — " You 
** have shewn your moderation," added he, " in declining the 
*' title that was offered to you ; let me at least betray no ea- 
*< gerness in courting that, which may or may not devolve up- 
<' on me. Had it not been for you it would never have come 
" under my contemplation ; I should still have remained par- 
" son of Stanwick, but the same circumstances, that have 
*' drawn you from your studies, have taken me from my soli- 
*' tude, and if you are thus zealous to transport me and your 
" mother into another kingdom, I hope you will be not less 
** solicitous to visit and console us with the sight of you, when 
*♦ we are there." 

I bless God I have not to reproach myself with neglecting 
this tender and paternal injunction. Not a year passed duringmy 
father's residence in Ireland that I did not happily devote some 
months of it to the fulfilment of this duty, always accompani- 
ed by my wife, and, with the exception of one time only, by 
some part of my young family. 

In a few days after this conversation I was authorized to an* 
nounce to my father his nomination to the bishopric of Clon* 
fert. He lost no time in arranging his affairs, and preparing 
for his departure with my mother and my younger sister, therx 
unman-ied. Lord Halifax in the mean time had received the 
Seals of Secretary of State ; he had to naine one Under-Secre- 
tary and his choice fell upon a gentleman of the name of 
Sedgewicke, who had attended upon him to Ireland in the ca- 
pacity of Master of the Horse, and on this promotion vacated 
an employ, which he held in the office of Trade and Planta- 
tions under the denomination of Clerk of the Reports. He 
was a civil, mannerly, and, as far as suited him, afl obsequious 
little gentleman ; fond of business, and very busy in it, be it 
what it might j his training had been in office; and his educa,-* 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 103 

tion stamped liis character with marks, that could not be mis- 
taken : he well knew how to follow up prefennent to its source, 
and though the waters of that spring were not very pare, he 
drank devoutly at the fountain head, and was rewarded for his 
perseverance. * 

I could not be said to suffer any disappointment on the oc- 
casion of this gentleman's promotion : I had due warning of 
the alternative, that presented itself to my choice. I had a 
holding on Lord Halifax, founded on my father's merits, and 
a long and failliful attachment on my own part ; but as I had 
hitherto kept the straight and fair track in following his for- 
tiuies, I would not consent to deviate into indirect roads, and 
disgrace myself in the eyes of his and my own connexions, who 
would have marked my conduct with deserved contempt. In 
attending upon him to Ireland I had the example of Doctor 
Crane to refer to, and I had his advice and approbation on this 
occasion for tendering my services, when he received the seals, 
as a point of duty, though not with any expectation of my 
tender being accepted. The answer was exactly what I looked 
to receive — cool in its terms, repulsive in its purport — I qvas 
not Jit for every situation — Nothing could be more true, neither 
did ] oppose a single word to the conviction it carried with it : 
in that 1 accjuicsced respectfully and silently ; but I said a few 
words in thankful acknowledgment of the favour he had con- 
ferred upon my father, and for that, which I had received in 
my own person, namely, the Crown-Agency of Nova Scotia. " 
Perhaps he did not quite expect to have disposed of me with 
so little trouble to himself, for my manner seemed to waken 
some sensations, which led him to dilate a little on his motives 
for declining to employ me, inasmuch as I did not speak 
French. This also was not less true than his first remark, for 
as certainly as I was not fit for all situations, so surely was I 
unfit for this, if speaking French fluently (though I understood 
it as a language) was a qualification not to be dispensed with. 
In short I admitted this objection in its full force, well per- 
suaded, that if I had possessed the elegance and perfection of 
Voltaire himself in that language, I should not have been a 
step nearer to the office in question. When we know our- 
selves to be put aside for reasons that do not touch the charac- 
ter, but will not truly be revealed, we do well to acquiesce in 
the very first civil, though evasive, apology, that is passed up- 
on ns in the way of explanation. 

Finding myself thus cast out of employ, and Mr. Sedge- 
wicke in possession of his office, I began to think it might be 
worth my while to endeavour at succeeding Ihm in his situa- 
tion at the Board of Trade, and submit to follow him, as he 
had once followed and now passed me in this road to prefer- 
ment. After above eleven years attendance, my profit was the 
sole attainment of a place of two houndred pounds per an« 



iO'i MEMOIRS OF 

num, my loss was that of the expense I had put my father to 
for my support and maintenance in a style of life, very differ- 
ent from that in which I was found ; this expense I had the 
consolation of being enabled to replace to my father upon the 
receipt of my wife's fortune ; but by this act of justice and 
duty so gratifying to my conscience the balance upon 3000/. 
which was the portion allotted to Miss Ridge, was very incon- 
siderable when it reached me. I had already three children, 
and the prospect of an increasing family ; my father's bishop- 
ric was not likely to benefit me, neither could it be considered 
as a compensation for my services, inasmuch as the past exer- 
tions of his influence and popularity in Northamptonshire 
might fairly give him a claim to a favour not less than that of 
appointing him second chaplain to Doctor Oswald, who was a 
perfect stranger to his Lordship, till introduced and recom- 
mended by his brother James. These considerations induced 
me to hope I could not be thought a very greedy or presump- 
tuous expectant, when I ventured to solicit him in compe- 
tition with a gentleman, who had only been in his immediate 
service as Master of the Horse for one session in Ireland, and 
at the same time they served as motives with me for endeavour- 
ing to succeed that gentleman, whose office, if I could obtain 
it, would be an addition to my income of two hundred per an- 
num. The Earl of Hillsborough was the first Lord of Trade and 
Plantations, and, being an intimate friend of Lord Halifax, 
was, I presumed not indisposed towards me. I thereupon 
went to Bubhey Park to v/ait upon Lord Halifax, and commu- 
nicated to him the idea, \»-hich had occu!Ted to me, of making 
suit for the office, that Mr. Sedgewicke had vacated. He re- 
ceived' this intimation in a manner, that did not merely denote 
embarrassment, it made it doubtful to rrie v/hethcr he meant to 
take it up as matter of offence, or turn it off as matteir of indif- 
ference ; for some time he seemed inclined to put an interpre- 
tation upon the measure proposed which certainly it could not 
bear, and to consider it as an abandonment on my part of a con- 
nexion, that had uninterruptedly subsisted for so many years. 
When a very few words on my part convinced him that this 
charge could not lie against me, he stated it in another view, 
as a degradation, which he was surprised I could think of sub- 
mitting to, after the situation I had stood in with respect to 
him : this was eahily answered, and in terms, that could not 
give offence ; thus whilst I was guarding my expressions from 
any semblance of disgust, and his lordship was holding a lan- 
guage, that could not come from his heart, we broke up the 
•conference without any other decision, than that of referring it 
to my own choice and discretion, as a measure he neither advi- 
sed nor opposed. 

As it was from this interview with the noble person, to whom 
I had attached myself for so long a term of years, that my fu- 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 105 

tnire line in life took a new direction, I could not pass it over 
in silence ; but though my mind retains the memory of many 
particulars, which, if my own credit only was at stake, I should 
be forward to relate, I ^hall forbear ; -convinced, that when I 
lost the favour and protection of that noble person, I had not 
forfeited his real good opinion ; of this truth he survived to 
give, and I to receive, proofs, that could not be mistaken. I 
had known him too intimately not to know, in the very m.o- 
ment, of which 1 have been speaking, that what he was by ac- 
cident, he was not by nature. I am persuaded he was formed 
to be a good man, he might also have been a great one : his 
mind was large, his i>pirit active, his ambition hon.ourable : he 
had a carriage noble and imposing ; his (ir.t approach attract- 
ed notice, his consequent address ensured respect : if his tal- 
ents were not quite so solid as som^, nor altogether so deep as 
others, yet they were brilliant, popular and made to glitter in 
the eyes of men : splendor was his passion ; his good fortune 
threw opportunities in his way to have supported it ; his ill 
fortune blasted all those energies, which should have been re- 
served for the crisis of his public fame ; the first offices of the 
state, the highest honours which his sovereign could bestow 
were showered upon him, when tl:e spring of his mind was 
broken, and hi> genius, like :■. vessel overloaded with treasure, 
but far gone in decay, was only precipitated to ruin by the very 
freight, that in its better days would have crowned it with pros- 
perity and riches. 

I now addressed a letter to the Earl of Hillsborough, tender- 
ing my humble services in Mr. Sedgewicke's room, and was ac- 
cepted without hesitation. Thus I entered upon an office, the 
duties of which consisted of taking minutes of the debates and 
proceedings at the Board, and preparing for their approbation 
and signature such reports, as they should direct to be drawn 
up for his Majcily, or the Council, and, on some occasions, 
for the Board of Treasury, or Secretaries of State. It was at 
most an ottice of no great labour, but as Mr. Pownall, now ac- 
tual Seci'eLary, was much in the habit of digesting these reports 
himself, my task was greatly lightened, and 1 had leisure to 
address myself to other studies, and indulge my propensities 
towards composition in whatever way they might incline me 
to employ them. 

Bickerstaif having at this time brought out his operas of Love 
in a Fillage and The Maid of the Mill with gr.-at success, some 
fiiends peisuad.d me to attempt a drama of that sort, and en- 
gaged Simpson, conductor of the band at Covent Garden and 
a performer on the hautboy, to compile the airs and adapt them 
to the stage. With very little knowledge of stage-eli'ect, and 
as little forethought about plot, incident, or character, I sate 
down to write, and soon produced a thing in three acts, which 
1 named the Summer's Tale^ though it was a tale about notlj- 



106 MEMOIRS OF 

ing and very indifTerentiy told ; however, being a vehicle for 
some songs, not despicably written, and some uf these very 
well set, it was carried by my friends to Beard, then manager 
of the theatre, and accepted for representation. My friends, 
who were critics merely in music, took as lii.tle concern about 
revihir.g the drama, as I took pains in writing it : they brought 
me the music of old songs, and I adapted words to it, and 
wove them into the piece, as I could. I saw, however, how 
very ill this plan was adapted for any credit, that could be ex- 
pec ed to accrue to me from my share in it, and to mark how 
little confidence I placed in the composition of the drama, I 
aflixed as motto to the title page the following words — Fox^ et 
prufterea nihil. — Abel furnished the overture. Bach, Doctor 
Arne and Arnold supplied some original compositions ; Beard, 
Miss Brent, (then in high reputation) Mr. and Mrs. Mattocks 
and Shuter fiiled thi^ principal characters. It was performed 
nine or ten nights to moderate houses without opposition, and 
very deservedly without much applause, except what the exe- 
cution of the vocal performers, and some brilliant composi- 
tions justly obtained ; but even with these it was rather over- 
loaded, and was not sufficiently contrasted and relieved by fa- 
miliar airs. 

The fund for the support of decayed actors being then re- 
cently established by the company of Covent Garden theatre, I 
appropriated the receipts of my ninth night to that benevolent 
institution, which the conductors were pleased to receive with 
much good will, and have honoured me with their remem- 
brance at th.eir annual audits ever since. 

The Summer's Tale was published by Mr. Dodsley, and as I 
received no complaint from him on account of the sale, I hope 
that liberal purchaser of the copy had no particular reason to 
be discontented with his bargain. 

Bickerstaff, who had established himself in the public favour 
by the success of his operas above-mentioned, seemed to con- 
sider me as an intruder upon his province, with whom he was 
to keep no terms, and he set all engines of abuse to work upon 
me and my poor drama, whilst it was yet in rehearsal, not re- 
pressing his acrimony till it had been before the public ; when 
to have discussed it m the spii^it of fair criticism might have 
afforded him full matter of triumph, without convicting him of 
any previous malice or personality against an unotFending au^ 
thor. I was no sooner put in possession of the proofs against 
bim, which were exceedingly gross, than I remonstrated by let- 
ter to him against his uncandid proceeding ; I have no copy 
of that letter ; I wish I had preserved it, as it would be in proof 
to show that my disposition to live in harmony with my con- 
temporaries was, at my very outset as a writer for the stage, 
what it has uniformly been to the present hour, and that, al- 
though this attack was one of the most virulent and unfair ever 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 107 

made upon me, yet I no otherwise appealed against it, than 
by telling him, " I'iiat if his contempt of my performance was 
•' really what he professed it to be, he had no need to fear me 
" as a rival, and might relax from his intemperance ; on the 
' *' contrary, if alarm for his own interest had any share in the 
« motives for his animosity, I was perfectly ready to purchase 
" his peace of mind and good will by the sacritice of those 
" emolmnents, which might eventually accrue from my nigh's, 
" in any such way as might relieve his anxiety, and convince 
" him of my entire disinterestedness in commencing author ; 
*' adding in conclusion, that he might assure himself he would 
" never hear of m.e again as a writer of operas." This I can 
perfectly recollect was the purport of my letter, which I dic- 
tated in the belief of what was reported to me as an apology 
for his conduct, and entirely ascribed his hostility to his alarm 
on the score of interest- and not to the evil temper of his mind. 
This was the interpretation I put upon what Mr. Bickerstaff 
had written of me, and m.y real motive for what I wrote to 
him : I understood he was wholly dependant on the stage, and 
that the necessity of his circumstances made him bitter against 
any one, who slept forv/ard to divide the favour of the public 
with him. To insult his poverty, or presume on my advan- 
tage over him in respect of circumstances, wa^s a thought, that 
never found adm:s;;icn to my heart, nor did Bickerstaff himself 
so confitrue my letter, or suspect me of such baseness ; for Mr. 
Garrick afterwards informed me that Bickerstaif shewed this 
letter to him as an appeal to his feelings of such a nature, as 
ought to put him to silence ; and when Mr. Garrick represent- 
ed to him, that he also saw it in that light, he did not scruple 
to confess that his attack had been unfair, and that he should 
never repeat it against me or my productions. I led him into 
no further temptations, for whilst he continued to supply the 
stage with musical pieces, I timied my thoughts to dramas of 
another cast, and we interfered no longer with each other's la- 
bours. 

One day as J was leaving the theatre after a rehearsal of the 
Summer'^ Tale, I was met by Mr. Smith, then engaged at Co- 
vent Garden, and whom I had known at the University, as an 
Under-graduate of Saint John's- College. We had of course some 
convei'sation, during which he had the kindness to remonstrate 
with me upon the business I was engaged in, politely saying, 
that I ought to turn my talents to compositions of a more in- 
dependent and a higher character ; predicting to me, that I 
should reap neither fame nor satisfaction in the operatic depart- 
ment, and demanding of me, in a tone of encouragement, why I 
would not rather aim at writing a good comedy, than dabbling in 
these sing-song pieces. The animating spirit of this friendly re- 
monstrance, and the full persuasion that he predicted truly of 
the chai"acter and consequences of my undertaking then on foot, 



108 MEMOIRS OF 

made a sensible impression on my mind, and in the warmth of 
the moment I formed my resohition to attempt the arduous 
project he had pointed out. If my old friend and contempora- 
ry ever reads this page, perhaps he can call to mind the con- 
versation I allude to ; though he has not the same reasons to 
keep in his remembrance this circumstance, as I have, vi^ho was 
the party favoured and obliged, yet I hope he will at all events 
belive that I record it tiuly as to the fact, and gratefully for the 
effects of it. As his friend, I have lived with him, and shared 
his gentlemanly hospitality ; as his author, I have witnessed his 
abilities, and profited by his support ; and though I have lost 
sight of him ever since his retirement from the stage, yet I have 
ever retained at heart an interest in his welfare, and as he and I 
are too nearly of an age to flatter ourselves, that we have any very 
long continuance to come upon the stage of this life, I beg leave 
to make this public profession of my sincere regard for him, and 
to pay the tribute of my plaudits now, before he makes his 
final exit, and the curtain drops. 

Before I had ushered my melodious nonsense to the audi- 
ence, I had clearly discovei-ed the weakness of the tame and 
lifeless fable on which I had founded it ; there were still some 
scenes between the characters of Henry and Amelia, which 
were tolerably conceived, and had preserved themselves a place 
in the good opinion of the audience by the simpiicity of the 
style, and the address of Mrs. Mattocks and Mr. Dyer, to 
whom those pai-ts Avere allotted. It was thereupon thought 
adviseable to cut down the Summer's Tale to an after-piece of 
two acts, and exhibit it in the next season under the title of 
Amelia. In this state it stood its ground, and took its tmn 
with very tolerable success " behind the foremost and before . 
*' the last." Simpson published the music in a collection, and 
I believe he got home pretty well upon the sale of it. The 
good judges of that time thought it good music, but the bet- 
ter judges of this time would probably think it good for : 
nothing. • 

In the summer of this year, as soon as the Boai-d of Trade 
broke up for their usual recess, I went with my wife and part 
of my young fiimily to pay my duty and fulfil my promise to , 
my father and mother in Ireland. They waited for us in ; 
Dublin, where my father had taken the late Bishop of Meath's ' 
house in Kildarc-Street, next door to the Duke of Leinster's. 
When we had reposed ourselves for a few days, after the fa- 
tigues of a turbulent passage, we all set off for Clonfert in the, 
county of Galway. Every body, v.'ho has travelled in Ireland,! 
and witnessed the wretched accommodation of the inns, par-j 
ticularly in the west, knows that it recjuires some forecast and. ] 
preparation to conduct a large family on their journey. It cer- ; 
tainly is as diifei-ent from travelling in England as possible, and ' 
not much unlike travelling in Spain ; but with my father for 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 109 

our provider, whose appointments of servants and equipage 
were ever excellent, we could feel few wants, and arrived in good 
time at our journey's end, where upon the banks of the great riv - 
er Shannon, in a nook of land, on all sides, save one, suiTound- 
ed by an impassable bog, we found the episcopal residence, by 
courtesy called palace, and the church of Clonfert, by custom 
called cathedral. This humble residence was not devoid of 
comfort and convenience, for it contained some tolerable lodg- 
ing rooms, and was capacious enough to receive me and mine 
without straitening the family. A garden of seven acres, well 
planted and disposed into pleasant walks, kept in the neatest 
order, was attached to the house, and at the extremity of a 
broad gravel walk in front stood the cathedral. Within this 
boundary the scene was cheerful ; all without it was either im- 
penetrable bog, or a dreary undressed country ; but whilst all 
was harmony, hospitality and affection underneath the parental 
roof, " the mind was its own place," and every hour was hap- 
py. My father lived, as he had ever done, beloved by all 
around him ; the same benevolent and generous spirit, which 
had endeared him to his neighbours and parishioners in Eng- 
land, now began to make the like impressions on the hearts of 
a people as far different in character, as they were distant in 
place, from those, whom he had till now been concerned with. 
Without descending from the dignity he had to support, and 
condescending to any of the paltry modes of courting popular- 
ity, I instantly perceived how high he stood in their esteem ; 
these observations I was perfectly in the way to make, for I 
had no forms to keep, and was with all uncommonly delighted 
with their wild eccentric humours, mixing v;ith all ranks and 
descriptions of men, to my infinite amusement. If I have been 
successful in my dramatic sketches of the Irish character, it 
was here I studied it in its purest and most primitive state; from 
high to low it wai now under my view. Though I strove to 
present it in its fairest and best light upon the stage, truth 
obliges me to confess there was another side of the picture, 
which could not have been contemplated without affright and 
hon^or ! Atrocities and violences, which set all law and justice 
at defiance, were occasionally committed in this savage and li- 
centious quarter, and suffered to pass over with impunity. In 
the neighbouring town of Eyre Court, they had by long usage 
assumed to themselves certain local and self-constituted privi- 
leges and exemptions, which rendered it unapproachable by any 
officers or emissaries of the civil power, who were universally 
denounced as mad dogs, and subjected to be treated as sucli, 
and even put to death with as little ceremony or remorse. I 
speak of what actually occurred within my own immediate 
knowledge, whilst I resided with my father, in more instances 
than one, and those instances would Lio shocking to rcl;;tCi To 
stem these daring outrages, and to stand i.j ooTJoiitiou to these 
K 



110 MEMOIRS OF 

barbarous customs, was an undertaking, that demanded Loi,. 
philanthropy and courage, and my father of course was the 
very man to attempt it. Justice and generosity were the in- 
struments he employed, and I saw the work of reformation so 
auspiciously begun, and so steadily pursued by him, as con- 
vinced me that minds the most degenerate may be to a degree 
reclaimed by actions, that come home to their feelings, and are 
evidently directed to the sole purposes of amending their man- 
ners, and improving their condition. To suppose they were a 
race of beings stupidly vicious, devoid of sensibility, and deliv- 
ered over by their natural inertness to barbarism and ignorance, 
would be the very falsest character that could be conceived of 
them ; it is on the contrary to the quickness of their apprehen- 
sive faculties, to the preciptancy and unrestrained vivacity of 
their talents and passions, that we must look for the causes, and 
in some degree for the excuse of their excesses : together with 
their ferocious propensities there are blended and compound- 
ed humours so truly comic, eccentricities so peculiar, and at- 
tachments and affections at times so inconceivably ardent that 
it is not possible to contemplate them in their natural charac- 
ters without being diverted by. extravagancies, which we cannot 
seriously approve, and captivated by professions, which we can- 
not implicitly give credit to. 

The bishop held a consideralile parcel of land, arable and 
grazing, in his hands, or more properly speaking in the phrase 
of the country, a large demesne, with a numtrou:; tribe of labour- 
ers, gardeners, turf-cutters, herdsmen and handicraft -men of 
various denominations. Kis fir^t object, and that not an easy 
one to attain, was to induce them to pursue the same methods 
of husbandry as were practised in Engknul, and to observe ti)e 
same neat and cleanly course of cultivation. This was a great 
point gained ; they began it with unwillingness, and watclied it 
with suspicion : their idle neighbours, who were without em- 
ploy, ridiculed the work, and predicted that their hay stacks 
would take fire, and their com be rendered unfit for use ; but 
in the further course of time, when they experienced the ad- 
vantages of this process, and witnessed the striking contrast of ' 
these productive lands, compared vrith the slovenly grounds 
around them, they began to acknowledge their own eiTorsand 
to reform them. With these operations the improvements of 
their own habitations were contrived fjp keep pace ; their cab- 
ins soon wore a more comfortable and decent appearance ; 
they furnished them with chimnies, and emerged out of the 
smoke, in which they had buried and suffocated their fanailies 
and themselves. When these old habits were corrected within 
doors, on the outside of every one of them there was to be 
seen a stack of hay, made in the English fashion, thatched and 
secured from the weather, and a lot of potatoes carefully plant- 
ed and kept clean, which, with a suitable proportion of turf, ^ 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. ill 

secured the year's provision both for man and beast. When 
these comforts were placed in their view, they were easily led 
to turn their attention to the better appearance of their persons, 
and this reform was not^ little furthered by the premium, of a 
Sunday's dinner to all, who should present themselves in clean 
linen and with well-combed hair, without the customaiy addi- 
tion of a scare-crow wig, so that the swarthy Milesian no longer 
appeared with a yellow wig upon his coal-black hair, nor the 
yellow Dane with a coal-black wig upon his long red locks : 
the old barbarous custom also of working in a great coat loose- 
ly thrown over the shoulders, with the sleeves dangling by the 
sides, was now dismissed, and the bishop's labourers turned 
into the iicid, stript to their shirts, proud to shew themselves 
in whole linen, so that in them vamty,.operated as a virtue, and 
piqued them to excel in industry as' much as they did in ap» 
pearance. As for me, I was so delighted with contemplating a 
kind of new creation, of which my father was the author, that 
I devoted the greatest portion of my tiine to his works, and had 
full powers to prosecute his good intentions to whatever ex= 
tent I might find opportunities for carrying them. This com- 
mission was to me most gratifying, nor have any hours in my 
past life been more truly satisfactory, than those in v/hich 1" 
was thus occupied as the administrator of his unbounded be- 
nevolence to his dependent fellow creatures. My father being 
one of the governors of the Linen Board, availed himself also 
of the opportunity for introducing a branch of that valuable 
manufacture in his neighbourhood, and a great number of 
spinning-wheels were distributed, and much good linen made 
in consequence of that measure. The superintendence of this 
improving manufacture fui-nished an interesting occupation to 
my mother's active mind, and it flourished under her care. 

In the month of October my father removed his family to 
Dublin, and from thence I i-eturned to resume my official duty 
at the Board of Trade. In the course of this winter I brought 
out my first comedy, entitled The Brothers, at Covent Garden 
theatre, then under the direction of Mr. Harris and his associ-= 
ates, joint proprietors with him. I had written this play, after 
my desultory manner, at such short periods of time and leisure, 
as I could snatch from business or the society of my ftimily, 
and sometimes even in the midst of both, for I could then form 
whole scenes in my memory, and afterwards write them down 
when opportunity afforded ; neither was it any interruption, if 
my children were playing about me in the room. I believe I 
was indebted to Mr. Harris singly for the kind reception^ 
which this offer met ; for if I rightly remember what passed 
on that occasion, my Brothers were not equally acceptable to 
his brethren as to him. He took it however with all its respon- 
sibility, supported it and cast it with the best strength of his 
company. Woodvirard in the part of Ironsides, and Yates in 



112 MEMOIRS OF 

that of Sir Benjamin Dove, were actors, that could keep their 
scene alive, if any life was is it, : Quick, then a young perform- 
er, took the part of Skiff, .ind my friend Smith, who had 
prompted me to the undertaking, was the young man of the 
piece ; Mrs. Green performed Lady Dove, and Mrs. Yates was 
the heroine Sophia. 

The play was successful, and I believe I may say that it 
brought bome advantage to the theatre as well as some reputa- 
tion to its author. It has been much played on the provincial 
stages, and occasionally revived on the royal ones. There are 
still such excellent successors in the lines of Yates and Wood- 
ward to be found in both theatres, that perhaps it would not 
even now be a loss of labour, if they took it up afresh. I rec- 
ollect that I bon-owed the hint of Sir Benjamin's assumed val- 
our upon being forced into a rencounter, from one of the old 
comedies, and if I conjecture rightly it is The Little French 
La^^yer. It may be said of this comedy, as it may of most, it 
has some merits and some faults ; it has its scenes that tell, and 
its scenes that tire ; a start of character, such as that of the 
tame Sir Benjamin, is always a striking incident in the con- 
struction of a drama, and when a revolution of that sort can be 
brought about without violence to nature, and for purposes es- 
sential to the plot, it is a point of art well worthy the atten- 
tion and study of a writer for the stage. The comedy of Rule 
a Wife and hai'e a IVife, and particularly that of Massinger's 
City Madam, are strong instances in point. It is to be wi.shed 
that some man of experience in stage effect would adapt the 
latter of these comedies to representation. 

Garrick was in the house at the first night of The Brothers, 
and as I was planted in the back seat of an upper box, oppo- 
site to where he sate, I could not but remark his action of sur- 
prise when Mrs. Yates opened the epilogue with the following 
lines — 

" Who but hath seen the celebrated strife, 
*' Where Reynolds calls the canvas into life, 
" And 'twixt the tragic and the comic muse, 
" Courted of both, and dubious where to choose, 
" Th' immortal actor stands — :" 

My friend Fitzherbert, father of Lord St. Helen, was then 
with Garrick, and came from his box to me across the house 
to tell me, that the immortal actor had been taken by sui-prise, 
but was not displeased with the unexpected compliment from 
an author, with whom he had supposed he did not stand upon 
the best terms ; alluding no doubt to his transaction with 
Lord Halifax respecting The Banishment of Cicero. From 
this time Mr. Garrick took pains to cultivate an acquaintance, 
which he had hitherto neglected, and after Mr. Fitzherbert had 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. lia 

brought us together at his house, we interchanged visits, and 
it is nothing more than natural to confess I was charmed with 
his company and flattered by his attentions. I had a house in 
Queen-Ann-Street, and he then lived in Southampton-Street 
Covent Garden, where I frequently went to him and sometimes 
accompanied him to his pleasant villa at Hampton, In the 
mean time, whilst I was thus fortunate in conciliating to my-, 
self one eminent person by my epilogue, I soon discovered to 
my regret how many I had oftended by my prologue. A host 
of newspaper-writers fell upon me for the pertness and general 
satire of that incautious composition, and I found myself as- 
sailed from various quarters with unmitigated acrimony. I 
made no defence, and the only one I had to make would hardly 
have brought me off, for I could have opposed nothing to their 
charge against me, but the simple and sincere assertion that I 
alluded personally to no man, and being little versed in the 
mock-modesty of modern addresses to the audience, took the 
old style of prologue for my model, and put a bold coun- 
tenance upon a bold adventure. Numerous examples were 
before me of prologues arrogant in the extreme ; Johnson 
abounds in such instances, but I did not advert sufficiently to 
the change, which time had wrought in the circumstances of 
the dramatic poet, and how much it behoved him to lower his 
tone in the hearing of his audience : neither did Smith, who 
was speaker of the prologue, and an experienced actor, warn 
me of any danger in the lines he undertook to deliver. In 
short, mine was the error of inexperience, and their efforts to 
rebuff me only gave a fresh spring to my exertions, for I can 
truly say, that, although I have been annoyed by detraction, it 
never had the property of depressing me. I was silly enough 
to send this comedy into the world with a dedication to the 
Dnke of Grafton, a man with whom I had not the slightest ac- 
quaintance, nor did I seek to establish any upon the merit of 
this address ; he was Chancellor of the University of Cam- 
bridge, and this was my sole motive for inscribing my first 
comedy to him. As for the play itself, whilst the prologue and 
the prologue's author run the gauntlet, that kept possession of 
the stage, and Woodward and Yates lost no credit by the sup. 
port they gave it. 

I will not trouble the reader with many apologies or appeals, 
yet just now whilst I am beginning to introduce a long list of 
dramas, such as I presume no English author has yet equalled 
in point of number, I would fain intercede for a candid interpre- 
tation of my labours, and recommend my memory to posterity 
for protection after death from those unhandsome caviis, which 
I have patiently endured whilst living. 

I am not to learn that dramatic authors are to arm them- 
selves with fortitude before they take a post so open to atcic • 
tliey, who are to act in the public eye, and speak in the put ia! 
K2 



114 MEMOIRS OF 

ear, have no right to expect a very smooth and peaceful ca- 
reer. I have had my full share of success, and I trust I have 
paid my tax for it always without mutiny, and very generally 
without murmuring. I have never irritated the town by mak- 
ing a sturdy stand against their opposition, when they have 
been pleased to point it against any one of my productions : I 
never failed to withdraw myself on the very first intimation 
that I was unwelcome, and the only offence I have been guilty 
of is, that I have not always thought the worse of a composi- 
tion only because the public did not think well of it. I sol- 
emnly protest that I have never written, or caused to be writ- 
ten, a single line to puff and praise myself, or to decry a broth- 
er dramatist, since I had life ; of all such anonymous and mean 
manoeuvres I am clearly innocent and proudly disdainful ; I 
have stood firm for the corps, into which I* enrolled myself, 
and never disgraced my colours by abandoning the cause of 
the legitimate comedy, to whose service I am sworn, and in 
whose defence I have kept the field for nearly half a century, 
till at last I have survived all true national taste, and lived to 
see buffoonery, spectacle, and puerility so effectually trium- 
phant, that now to be repulsed from the stage is to be recom.- 
mended to the closet, and to be applauded by the theatre is 
little else than a passport to the puppet-show. I only say 
what every body knows to be true : I do not write from per- 
sonal motives, for I have no more cause for complaint than is 
common to many of my brethren of the corps. It is not my 
single m.isfortune to have been accused of vanity, which I did 
not feel, of satires, which I did not write, and of invectives, 
which I disdained ev«n to meditate. It stands recorded of me 
in a review to this hour, that on the first night of The School for 
Scandal I was overheard in the lobby endeavoring to decry and 
cavil at that excellent comedy : I gave my accuser proof posi- 
tive, that I was at Bath during the time of its first run, never 
saw it during its first season, and exhibited my pocket -journal 
in confirmation of my alibi : the gentleman was convinced of 
my innocence, but as he had no opportunity of correcting his 
libel, every body that read it remains convinced of my guilt. 
TsTow as none, who ever heard my name, will fail, to suppose I 
must have said what is imputed to me in bitterness of heart, not 
from defect in head, this false aspersion of my character was 
cruel and injurious in the extreme. I hold it right to explain 
that the reviewer I am speaking of has been long since dead. 

In the ensuing year I again paid a visit to my father at Clon- 
fert, and there in a little closet at the back of the palace, as it 
was called, unfurnished and out of use, with no other pros- 
pect from my single window but that of a turf-stack, with 
which it was almost in contact, I seated myself by choice, and 
began to plan and compose The West-Indian. 

As the writer for the stage is a writer to the passions, I bold 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 115 

it matter of conscience and duty in the dramatic poet to re- 
serve his brightest colouring for the best characters, to give no 
false attractions to vice and immorality, but to endeavour, as 
far as is consistent with that contrast, which is the very es- 
sence of his art, to turn the fairer side of human nature to the 
public, and, as much as in him lies, to contrive so as to put 
men into goad humour with one another. Let him therefore 
in the first place strive to make worthy characters amiable, but 
take great care not to make them insipid ; if he does not put 
life and spirit into his man or woman of virtue, and render 
them entertaining as well as good, their morality is not a whit 
more attractive than the morality of a Greek chorus. Ke had 
better have let them alone altogether. 

Congreve, Farquhar, and some others have made vice and 
villany so playful and amusing, that either they could not find 
in their hearts to punish them, or not caring how wicked they 
were, so long as they v.ere witty, paid no attention to what 
became of them : Shad well's comedy is little better than a 
brothel. Poetical justice, whicli has armed the tragic poet 
with the w^eapons of death, and commissioned him to wash out 
the offence in the blood of the offender, has not left the comic 
writer without his instruments of vengeance ; for surely, if he 
knows how to employ the authority that is in him, the scourge 
of ridicule alone is shaip enough for the chastisement of any 
crimes, which can fall witiiin his province to exhibit. A true 
poet knows that xmlesss he can produce works, whose fame 
will outlive him, he v>'ill outlive both his works and his fame ; 
therefore every comic author who takes the mere clack of the 
day for his subject, and abandons all his claim upon posterity, 
is no true poet ; if he dabbles in personalities, he does consid- 
erably worse. When I began therefore, as at this time, to 
write for the stage, my ambition was to aim at WTiting some- 
thing that might be lasting and outlive me ; when temporary 
subjects vve)-e suggested to me, I declined them : I fonned to 
myself in idea Vi'hat I conceived to be the character of a legit- 
imate comedy, and that alone was my object, and though I did 
not quite aspire to attain, I was not altogether in despair of ap- 
proaching it. I perceived tliat I had fallen upon a time, when 
great eccentricity of character was pretty nearly gone by, but 
still 1 fancied there was an opening for some originality, and an 
opportunity for shewing at least my good will to mankind, if I 
introduced the characters of per.'-ons, who had been usually 
exhibited en the stage, as the butts for ridicule and abuse, 
and endeavoured to present them in such lights, as might tend 
to reconcile the world to them, and them to the world. I 
thereupon looked into society for the purpose of discovering 
such as were the victims of its national, professional or religious 
prejudices; in short for those suffering characters, which stood 
in need of an advocate, and out of these I meditated to select 



116 MEMOIRS OF 

and form heroes for my future dramas, of which I would 
study to make such favourable and reconciUatory delineations, 
as might incline the spectators to look upon them with pity, 
and receive them into their good opinion and esteem. 

With this project in my mind, and nothing but the turf- 
stack to call off my attention, I took the characters of an Irish- 
man and a West Indian for the heroes of my plot, and began 
to work it out into the shape of a comedy. To the West In- 
dian I devoted a generous spirit, and a vivacious giddy dissipa- 
tion ; I resolved he should love pleasure much, but honour 
more ; but as I could not keep consistency of character without 
a mixture of failings, when I gave him charity, I gave him that, 
which can cover a multitude, and thus protected, thus recom- 
mended, I thought I might scud him out into the world to 
shift for himself. 

For my Irishman I had a scheme rather more complicated ; 
I put him into the Austrian service, and exhibited him in the 
livery of a foreign master, to impress upon the audience the 
melancholy and impolitic alternative, to which his religious die- 
qualilication had reduced a gallant and a loyal subject of his 
natural king : I gave him courage, for it belongs to his nation ; 
I endowed him with honour, for it belongs to his profession, 
and I made him proud, jealous, susceptible, for such the exiled 
veteran will be, who lives by the earnings of his sword, and is 
not allov\^ed to draw it in the service of that country, which 
gave him birth, and Avhich of course he was born to defend i 
for his phraseology I had the glossary ready at my hand ; for 
his mistakes and trips, vulgarly called balls, I did not know the 
Irishman of the stage then existing, whom I would wish to 
make my model : their gross absurdities, and unnatural contra- 
rieties have not a shade of character in them. When his im- 
agination is warm.ed, and his itleas rush upon him in a cluster, 
'tis then the Irishman will sometimes blunder ; his fancy hav^ 
ing supplied more words than his tongue can well dispose of, 
it will occasionally trip. But the imitation must be delicately 
conducted ; his meaning is clear, he conceives rightly, though in 
delivery he is confused ; and the art as I conceive it, of finding 
language for the Irish character on the stage consists not in 
making him foolish, vulgar or absurd, but on the contrary, 
whilst you furnish him with expressions, that excite laughter, 
you must graft them upon sentiments, that deserve applause. 

In all my hours of study it has been through life my object 
so to locate myself as to have little or nothing to distract my 
attention, and therefore brilliant rooms or pleasant prospects I 
have ever avoided. A dead wall, or, as in the present case, an 
Iribh turf-stack, are not attractions, that can call off the fancy 
from its pursuits ; and whilst in those pursuits it can find inter- 
est and occupation, it wants no outward aids to cheer it. My 
mother, who had a fellow-feeling with me in these sensationsj 



'^ 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 117 

used occasionally to visit me in this hiding hole, and animated 
me with lier remarks upon the progress of my work : my father 
was rather inclined to apologi/.c for the meanness of my ac- 
commodation, and I believe ratlier wondered at my choice : in 
the mean time I had none of those incessant avocations, which 
for ever crossed me in the writing of The Brothers. I was ma> 
ter of my time, my mind was free, and I was happy in the so- 
ciety of the dearest friends I had on earth. In parents, sister, 
wife and children, greater blessings no man could enjoy. The 
calls of office, the cavillings of angry rivals, and the jibings of 
news-paper critics could not reach me on the banks of the 
Shannon, where all within doors was love and affection, all 
without was gratitude and kindness devolved on me through 
the merits of my father. In no other period of my life have the 
same happy circumstances combined to cheer me in any of my 
literary labours. 

During an excursion of a few days upon a visit to Mr. Tal- 
bot of Mount Talbot, a very respectable and worthy gentleman 
in those parts, I found a kind of hermitage in his pleasure 
grounds, where I wrote some few scenes, and my amiable host 
was afterwards plea ed to honour the author of the Weot-In- 
dian, with an inscription, atExed to that building, commemo- 
rating the use that had been made of it ; a piece of elegant flat- 
tery very elegantly expressed. 

On this visit to Mr. Talbot I was accompanied by Lord Eyre 
of Eyre Court, a near neighbour and friend of my father. This 
noble Lord, though pretty far advanced in years, was so cor- 
rectly indigenous, as never to have been out of Ireland in his 
life, and not often so far from Eyre Court as in this tour to 
Mr. Talbot's. Proprietor of a vast extent of soil, not very pro- 
ductive, and inhabiting a spacious mansion, not in the best re- 
pair, he lived according to the style of the country with more 
hospitality than elegance : whilst his table groaned with abun- 
dance, the order and good taste of its arrangement were little 
thought of : the slaughtered ox was hung up whole, and the 
hungry servitor supplied himself with his dole of flesh, sliced 
from otf the carcase. His lordship's day was so apportioned as 
to give the afternoon by much the larger share of it, during 
which, from an early dinner to the hoiu- of rest, he never left 
his chair, nor did the claret ever quit the table. This did not 
pi'oduce inebriety, for it was sipping rather than drinking, that 
filled up the time, and this mechanical process of gradually 
moistening the human clay was carried on with very little aid 
from conversation, for his lordship's companions were not very 
communicative, and fortunately he was not very curious. He 
lived in an enviable independence as to reading, and of course 
he h^d no books. Not one of the windows of his castle was 
made to open, but luckily he had no liking for fresh air, and 
the consequence may \>q better conceived than described. 



118 MEMOIRS OF 

He h^d a large and handsome pleasure boat on the Shannon , 
,and men to row it ; I Avas of two or tliree parties with him on 
that noble water as far as to Pertumna, the then deserted castle 
of the Lcrd Clanrickarde. Upon one of these excursions we 
were hailed by a person from the bank, who somewhat rudely 
called us to take him over to the other side. The company ia 
the boat making no reply, I inadvertently called out — " Aye, 
"■ aye, Sir ! stay there till we come." — Innnediately I heard a 
murmur in the company, and Lord Eyre said to me — " You'll 
" hear from that gentleman again, or I am mistaken. You 
" don't know perhaps that you have been answering one of the 
" most initable men alive, and ti'e likeliest to interpret what 
" you have said as an affront." He predicted truly, for the 
very next morning the gentleman rode over to Lord Eyre, and 
demanded of him to give up my name. This his lordship did, 
but informed him withal that I Avas a stranger in the country, 
the son oi Bishop Cumberland at Clonfert, where I might be 
fouiid, if he had any commands for m.e. He instantly replied, 
that he khou'd have received it as an affront from any other 
man, but Bishop Cumberland's was a character he respected, 
and no son of his could be guilty of an intention to insult him. 
Thus this valiant gentleman permitted me to live, and only 
helped me to another feature in m.y sketch of Major O'Flaherty. 

A short time after this, Lord Eyre, who iiad a great pas-.sion 
for cock-fighting, and whose cocks were the crack of all Ire- 
land, engaged me in a main at Eyre Court. I was a perfect 
novice in that elegant sport, but the gentlemen from all parts 
sent me in their contributions, and having a good feeder I won 
every battle in the main but one. At this meeting I fell in with 
my hero from the Shannon bank. Both parties dined together, 
but when I found that mine, which was the m^ore numerous and 
infinitely the most obstreperous and disposed to quarrel, could 
no longer be left in peace with our antagonists, I quitted my 
seat by Lord Eyre and went to the gentleman above-alluded to, 
who was presiding at the second table, and seating myself fa- 
miliarly on the arm of his chair, proposed to him to adjourn 
our party, and assem.ble them in another house, for the sake of 
hanr.ony and good fellowship. With the best grace in life he 
instantly assented, and when I added that I should put them 
under his care, and expect from him as a man of honour 
and my friend, that every motlier's son of them should be 
found forthcoming and alive the next morning — " Then by 
<' the soul of me, he replied, and they shall ; provided only that 
" no man in company shall dare to give the glorious and immor-* 
*' tal memory for his toast, which no gentleman, who feels as I 
*' do, will put up with." To this I pledged myself, and we re- 
moved to a whiskey house, attended by half a score pipers, 
playing dillerent tunes. Here we went on very joyously and 
lovingly for a time, till a welUdressed gentleman entered the, ; 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. l\9 

•(jtiin, and civilly accosting me, requested to partake of our 
festivity, and join the company, if nobody had an objection — 
" Ah now, don't be too sure of that," a voice was instantly 
heard to reply, " I believe you will find plenty of objection in 
" this company to your Toeing one amongst us." — What had he 
done the gentleman demanded — " What have you done," re- 
joined the first speaker, " Don't I know you for the miscreant, 
" that ravished the poor wench against her will, in presence of 
" her mother ? And did'nt your Pagans, that held her down, 
" ravish the mother afterwards, in presence of her daughter ? 
" And do you think we will admit you into our company ? 
" Make yourself sure that we shall not ; therefore get otd of this 
*< as speedily as you can, and away wid you !" Upon this the 
whole company rose, and in their rising the civil gentleman 
made his exit and was off. I relate this incident exactly as it 
happened, suppressing the name of the gentleman, who was a 
man of property and some consequence. When my surprise 
had subsided, and the punch began to circulate with a rapidity 
the greater for this gentleman';* having troubled the waters, I 
took my departure, having first cautioned a friend, Vv^ho sate by 
me, (and the only protestant in the company), to keep his head 
cool and beware of the glorious memory ; this gallant young of" 
ficer, son to a man, who held lands of my father, promised 
faithfully to be sober and discreet, as well knowing the com- 
pany he was in ; but my friend having forgot the first part of 
his promise, and getting very tipsy, let the second part slip out 
of his memory, and became very mad ; for stepping aside for 
his pistols, he re-ontered the room, and laying them on the ta- 
ble, took the cockade from his hat, and dashed it into the 
punch-bowl, demanding of the company to drink the glorious 
and immortal memory of king WiUiam in a bumper, or abide the 
consequences. I was not there, and if I had been present I could 
neither have stayed the tumult, nor described it. I only know 
he turned out the next morning merely for honour's sake, but 
as it was one against a host, the magnanimity of his opponents 
let him off with a shot or two, that did no execution. I returned 
to the peaceful family at Clonfeil, and fouglit no more cocks. 

The fairies were extremely prevalent at Clonfert : visions of 
burials attended by long processions of mourners were seen to 
circle the church yard by night, and there was no lack of oaths 
and attestations to enforce the truth of it. My mother suffered 
a loss by them of a large brood of fine turkies who were every 
one burnt to ashes, bones and feathers, and their dust scattered 
in the air by their provident nurse and feeder to appease those 
mischievous little beings, and prevent v/orse consequences ; the 
good dame credited herself very highly for this act of atonement, 
but my mother did not see it quite in so meritorious a light. 

A few days after as my father and I were riding in the grounds 
we crossed upon the Catholic priest of the parish. My father 



" \ 



120 MEMOIRS OF 

began a conversation with him, and expressed a wish that he 
would caution his fluck against this idle superstition of the 
fairies : the good man assured the bishop that in the first place 
he could not do it if he would ; and in the next place confess* 
ed that he was himself far from being an unbeliever in their 
existence. My father thereupon turned the subject, and ob- 
served to him Vv'ith concei-n, that his steed was a very sorry one, 
and in very wretched condition. — " Truly, my good lord," he 
replied, " the beast himself is but an ugly garron, and whereby 
" I have no provender to spare him, mightily out of heart, as 
" I may truly say : but your lordship must think a poor priest 
«< like me has a mighty deal of work and very little pay — " j 
" Why then, brother," said my good father, whilst benevo- | 
lence beamed in his countenance, " 'tis fit that I who have the ' 
*' advantage of you in both respects, should mount you on a j 
" better horse, and furnish you with provender to maintain ; 
" him — ." This parley with the priest passed in the very hay- ; 
field, where the bishop's people wei-e at work ; orders were , 
instantly given for a stack of hay to be made at the priest's : 
cabin, and in a few days after a steady horse was purchased ,: 
and presented to him. Sui-ely they could not be true born !] 
Irish fairies, that would spite my father, or even his turkies, i 
after this. ■ 

Amongst the labourers in my father's garden there were three ' 
brothers of the name of O'Rourke, regularly descended from 
the kings of Connaught, if they were exactly to be credited for 
the correctness of their genealogy. There was also an elder 
brother of these, Thomas O'Rourke, who filled the superior 
station of hind, or headman ; it was his wife that burnt the 
bewitched turkies, whilst Tom burnt his wig for joy of my vie- , 
tory at the cock-match, and threw a proper parcel of oatmeal \ 
into the air aa a votive otTering for my glorious success. One j 
of the younger brothers was upon crutches in consequence of-; 
a contusion on his hip, which he literally acquired as follows : — j 
When my father came down to Clonfert from Dublin, it was i 
announced to him that the bishop was airived : the poor fellow j 
was then in the act of lopping a tree in the garden ; transport- 'j 
ed at the tidings, he exclaimed' — " Is my lord come ? "I'hen j 
*< I'll throw niyself out of this same tree for joy — ." He ex- i 
actly fulfilled his word, and laid himself up for some months. ] 

When I accompanied my mother fiom Clonfert to Dublin, i 
my father having gone before, Vv^e passed the night at Killbeg- ' 
gan, where Sir Thomas Cuffee, (knighted in a frolic by Lord 
Townshend) kept the inn. A certain Mr. Geoghegan was ex- 
tremely drunk, noisy and brutally troublesome to Lady Cufiee 
the hostess : Thomas O'Rourke was with us, and being much ; 
scandalized with the behaviour of Geoghegan, took me aside, ^ 
and in a whisper said — " Squire, will 1 quiet this same Mr. ' 
Geoghegan ?" When I replied by all means, but how was it to 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 12I 

be done i* — Tom produced a knife of formidable length and de- 
manded — " Haven't I got this ? And won't this do the job, and 
*' hasn't he wounded the woman of the inn with a chopping 
" knife, and what is this but a knife, and Avou'dn't it be a good 
" deed to put him to death like a mad dog i Therefore, Squire, 
♦' do you see, if it will pleasure you and my lady there above 
** stairs, who is ill enough, God he knows, I'll put this knife in- 
*< to that same Mr. Geoghegan's ribs, and be off the next mo- 
*< ment on the grey mare ; and isn't she in the stable ? There- 
♦' fore only say the word, and I'll do it." This was the true 
and exact proposal of Thomas O'Rourke, and as nearly as I 
can remember, I have stated it in his very words. 

We arrived safe in Dublin, leaving Mr. Geogheganto get so- 
ber at his leisure, and dismissing O'Rourke to his quarters at 
Clonfert. When we had passed a few days in Kildare-Street, I 
well remember the surprise it occasioned us one afternoon, 
when without any notice we saw a great gigantic dirty fellow 
walk into the room and march straight up to my father for 
what purpose we could not devise. My mother uttered a 
scream, whilst my father with perfect composure addressed 
him by the name of Stephen, demanding what he wanted with 
him, and what brought him to Du'^iin — " Nay, my good lord,'* 
replied the man, " I have no other business in Dublin itself but 
" to take a bit of a walk up from Clonfert to see your sweet 
" face, long life to it, and to beg a blessing upon me from your 
" lordship ; that is all." So saying he flounced down on hisr 
knees, and in a most piteous kind of howl, closing his hands at 
the same time cried out — " Pray, my lord, pray to God to 
*' bless Stepiien Costello — ." The scene was sufficiently ludi- 
crous to have spoiled the solemnity, yet my father kept his 
countenance, and gravely gave his blessing, saying, as he laid 
his hands on his head — " God bless you, Stephen Costello, and 
•* make you a good boy !" The giant sung out a loud amen, 
and arose, declaring he should immediately set out and return 
to his home. He would accept no refreshment, but with many 
thanks and a thousand blessings in recompence for the one he 
had received, walked out of the house, and I can well believe 
resumed nis pilgrimage to the westward without stop or stay. 
I should nor. have considered tliis and the preceding anecdotes 
as worth recording, but that they are in some degree character- 
istic of a very curious and peculiar people, who are not often 
understood by those who profess to mimic them, and who are 
too apt to set them forth as objects for ridicule only, when oft- 
entimes even their oddities, if candidly examined, would entitle 
them to our respect. 

_ I will here mention a very extraordinary honour, which the 
city of Dublin was pleased to confer upon my father in present- 
ing him with his fi-eedom in a gold box ; a form of such high 
•respect as they had never before observed towards any person 



122 MEMOIRS OF 

below the rank of their chief governor : I state this last-men- 
tioned circumstance from authorities that ought not to be mis- 
taken ; if the fact is otherwise, I have been misinformed, and 
the honour conferred upon the Bishop of Clonfert was not 
without a precedent. The motives assigned in the deed, which 
accompanied the box, are in general for the great respectability 
of his character, and in particular for his disinterested protec- 
tion of the Irish clergy. Under this head it was supposed they 
alluded to the benefice, which he had bestowed upon a most 
deserving clergyman, his own particular friend and chaplain, 
the Reverend Dixie Blondel, who happened also to be at that 
time chaplain to the Lord Mayor of Dublin. I have the box at 
this time in my possession. 

To the same merits, which influenced the city to bestow this 
distinguished honour on my lather, I must ascribe that which 
I received from the University of Dublin, by the honorary grant 
of the degree of Doctor of Laws. Upon this I have only to 
observe that to be within the sphere of my father's good name, 
was to me at once a security against danger and a recommend- 
ation to favour and reward. 

When I returned to England I entered into an engagement 
with Mr. GaiTick to bring out The West-Indian at his theatre. 
I had received fair and honourable treatment from Mr. Harris, 
and had not the slightest cause of complaint against him, his 
brother patentees or his actors. I had however no engagement 
with him, nor had he signified to me his wish or expectation of 
any such in future. If notwithstanding, the obligation was 
honourably such, as I was not frte to depart from, in which 
light I am pretty sure he regarded it, my conduct was no other- 
wise defeuoibie than as it was not intentionally unfair. My ac- 
quaintance with Mr. Gan-ick had become intimacy between the 
acting of the Brothers and the acceptance of the West-Indian, 
I resorted to him again and again with the manuscript of my 
comedy ; I availed myself of his advice, of his remarks, and I 
was neither conscious of doing what was wrong in me to do, 
nor did any remonstrance ever reach me to apprise n\e of my 
error. 

I was not indeed quite a novice to the theatre, but I was 
clearly innocent of knowing or beieiving myself bound by any 
rules or usage, that prevented me from ottering my production 
to the one or the other at my own free option. I went to Mr. 
Garrick ; I found in him what my inexperience stood in need 
of, an admirable judge of stage-effect ; at his suggestion I added 
the preparatory scene in the house of Stockwell, before the ar- 
rival of Belcour, where his baggage is brought in, and the do- 
mestics of the Merchant are setting things in readiness for his 
coming. This insertion I made by his advice, and ] punctually 
remember the very instant when he said to me in his chariot on 
our way to Hampton — " I want something more to be announ^ 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 12S 

«« ced of your West -Indian before you bring him on the stage 
" to give ecla^ to his entrance, and rouse the curiosity of the 
" audience ; that they may say — Aye, here he comes with all 
« his colours flying — ." When I asked how this was to be 
done, and who was to do it, he considered awhile and then re- 
plied — " Why that is your look out, my friend, not mine ; but 
«' if neither your Merchant nor his clerk can do it, why, why 
•< send in tlie servants, and let them talk about him. Never let 
•' me see a hero step upon the stage without his trumpeters of 
" some sort or other." Upon this conversation it was that I 
engrafted the scene above-mentioned, and this was in truth the 
only alteration of any con sequence that the manuscript under- 
went in its passage to the stage. 

After we came to Hampton, where that inimitable man was 
to be seen in his highest state of animation, we began to debate 
upon the cast of the play. Bar. y was extremely desirous to 
play the part of the Irish Major, and GaiTick was very doubt- 
ful how to decide, for Moody was then an actor little known 
and at a low salary. I took no part in the question, for I was 
entitled to no opinion, but I remember GaiTick after long de- 
liberation gave his decree for Moody with considerable repug- 
nance, qualifying his preference of the latter with reasons, that 
in no respect reflected on the merits of Mr. Barry — but he did 
not quite see him in the whole part of O'Flaherty ; there were 
certain points of humour, where he thought it likely he might 
fail, and in that case his failure, like his name, would be more 
conspicuous than Moody's. In short Moody would take pains; 
it might make him, it might mar the other ; so Moody had it, 
and succeeded to our utmost wishes. Mr. King, ever justly a 
favourite of the public, took the part of Eelcour, and Mrs. Ab- 
ingdon, with some few salvos on the score of condescension, 
played Charlotte Rusport, and though she would not allow it 
to be any thing but a sketch, yet she made a character of it by 
her inimitable acting. 

The production of a new play was in those days an event of 
much greater attraction than from its frequency it is now be- 
come, so that the house was taken to the back rows of the front 
boxes for several nights in succession before that of its repre-. 
sentation ; yet in this interval I oilered to give its produce to 
Garrick for a picture, that hung over his chimney piece in South- 
ampton-Street, and was only a copy from a Holy Family of 
Andrea del Sarto : he would have closed with me upon the bar- 
gain, but that the picture had been a present to him from Lord 
Baltimore. My expectations did not run very high when I made 
this oifer. 

A rumour had gone about, that the character, which gave its 
title to the comedy, was satirical ; of course the gentlemen, who 
came under that description, went down to the theatre in great 
strength, very naturally disposed to chastise the author for his 



124 MEMOIRS OF 

malignity, and their phalanx was not a little formidable. Mrs. 
Cumberland and I sate with Mr. and Mrs. Garri^ in their pri- 
vate box. When the prologue-speaker had gone the length of 
the four first lines the tumult was excessive, and the interrup- 
tion held so long, that it seemed doubtful, if the prologue would 
be suffered to proceed. Ganick was much agitated ; he ob- 
served to me that the appearance of the house, particularly in 
the pit, was more hostile than he had ever seen it. It so hap- 
pened that I did not at that moment feel the danger, which he 
icemed to apprehend, and remarked to him that the very first 
word, which discovered Belcour's character to be friendly, 
would turn the clamour for us, and so far I regarded the impet- 
uosity of the audience as a symptom in our favour. Whilst 
this was passing between us, order was loudly issued for the 
prologue to begin again, and in the delivery of a few lines more 
^han they had already heai-d they seemed i-econciled to wait the 
developement of a character, from which they were told to 
expect — 

" Some emanations of a noble mind." 

Their acquiescence however was not set off with much ap- 
plause ; it was a suspicious truce, a sullen kind of civility, that 
did not promise more favour than we could earn j but when 
the prologue came to touch upon the Major, and told his coun- 
trymen in the galleries, that 

— " His heart can never trip — '* 

they, honest souls, who had hitherto been treated with little else 
but stage kicks and cuffs for their entertainment, sent up such a 
hearty crack, as plainly told us we had not indeed little cherubs, 
but lusty champions, who sate up aloft. 

Of the subsequent success of this lucky comedy there is no 
occasion for me to speak ; eight and twenty successive nights 
it went without the buttress of an afterpiece, which was not 
then the practice of attaching to a new play. Such was the 
good fortune of an author, who happened to strike upon a 
popular and taking plan, for certainly the moral of the West- 
Indian is not quite unexceptionable, neither is the dialogue 
above the level of others of the same author, which have been 
much less favoured. The snarlers snapped at it, but they 
never set their teeth into the right place ; I don't think I am 
very vain when I say that I could have taught them better. 
Garrick was extremely kind, and threw his shield before me 
more than once, as the St. James's evening paper could have 
■witnessed. My property in the piece was reserved for me 
with the greatest exactness ; the charge of the house upon the 
author's nights was then only sixty pounds, and when Mr. 
Evans the Treasurer came to my house in Queen-Ann-Street ia 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 125 

a hackney coach with a huge bag of money, he spread it all in 
gold upon my table, and seemed to contemplate it with a kind 
of ecstacy, that was extremely droll ; and when I tendered 
him his customary fee, he peremptorily refused it, saying he 
had never paid an author so much before, I had fairly earnt it, 
and he would not lessen it a single shilling, not even his coach- 
hire, and in that humour he departed. He had no sooner left 
the room than one entered it, who was not quite so scrupu- 
lous, but quite as welcome ; my beloved wife took twenty 
guineas from the heap, and instantly bestowed them on the 
faithful servant, who had attended on our children ; a tribute 
justly due her unwearied diligence and exemplary conduct. 

I sold the copy right to Griffin in Catharme-Street for 150/. 
and if he told the truth when he boasted of having vended 
12,000 copies, he did not make a bad bargain ; and if he made 
a good one, which it is pretty clear he did, it is not quite so 
clear that he deserved it : he was a sorry fellow. 

I paid respectful attention to all the floating criticisms, that 
came within my reach, but I found no opportunities of profit- 
ing by their remarks, and very little cause to complain of their 
personalities ; in short, I had more praise than I merited, and 
less cavilling than I expected. One morning when I called up- 
on Mr. Garrick I found him with the St. James's evening pa- 
per in his hand, Avhich he began to read with a voice and ac- 
tion of surprise, most admirably counterfeited, as if he had 
discovered a mine under my feet, and a train to blow me up to 

destruction " Here, here," he cried, " if your skin is leas 

" thick than a rhinoceros's hide, egad, here is that will cut you 
" to the bone. This is a ten-ible fellow ; I wonder who it can 
*' be." — He began to sing out his libel in a high declamatory 
tone, with a moit comic countenance, and pausing at the end 
of the first sentence, which seemed to favour h'u contrivance 
for a little ingenious tormenting, when he found he had hook- 
ed me, he laid down the paper, anel began to comment upon 
the cruelty of newspapers, and moan over me with a great deal 
of malicious fun and good humour — '* Confound these fel- 
" lov.'s, they spare nobody. I dare say this is BickerstafF 
" again ; but you don't mind him ; no, no, I see you don't 
" mind him ; a little galled, but not much hurt : you may 
" stop his mouth with a golden gag, but we'll see how he goes 
" on." — He then resumed his reading, cheering me all the way 
as it began to soften, till winding up in the most proftst pane- 
gyric, of which he was himself the writer, 1 found my friend 
had had his joke, and I had enjoyed his praise, seasoned and 
set off, in his inimitable manner, which to be comprehended, 
must have been seen. 

It was the remark of Lord Lyttleton upon this comedy, 
when speaking of it to me one evening at Mrs. Montague's, 
that had it not been for the mcident of O'FIaherty's hiding 
L 2 



126 MEMOIRS OF 

himself behind the screen, when he overhears the lawyer's so- 
liloquy, he should have pronounced it a faultless composition. 
This flattery his lordship surely added against the conviction 
of his better judgment merely as a sweetner to qualify his 
criticism, and by so doing convinced me that he suspected 
me of being less amenable to fair correction than I really am 
and ever have been. But be this as it may, a criticism from 
Lord Lyttleton must always be worth recording, and this es- 
pecially, as it not only applies to my comedy in particular, 
but is general to all. 

" I consider Ustening^^ said he, " as a resource never to be 
** allowed in any pure drama, nor ought any good author to 
" make use of it." This position being laid down by authori- 
ty so high, and audibly delivered, drew the attention of the 
company assembled for conversation, and all were silent. " It 
" is in fact," he added, " a violation of those rules, which 
•< original authorities have established for the constituiion of 
*' the comic drama." After all due acknowledgments for the 
favour of his remark, I replied that if I had trespassed against 
any rule laid down by classical authority in the case alhided 
to, I had done it inadvertently, for I really did not know 
where any such rule was to be found. 

" What did Aristotle say ? — Were there no rules laid down 
«' by him for comedy V None that I knew; Aristotle referred 
to the Margites and Ilias Minor as models, but that was 
no rule, and the models being lost, we had neither precept 
nor example to instruct us. " Were there any precedents 
" in the Greek or Roman drama, which could justify the 
" measure." — To this I replied that no precedent could justify 
the measure in my opinion, which his lordship's better judg- 
ment had condemned ; being possessed of that I should offend 
no more, but as my error was committed when I had no such 
advice to guide me, I did recollect that Aristophanes did not 
scruple to resort to listening, and drav\nng conclusions from 
what was overheard, when a man rambled and talked broken 
sentences in his bed asleep and dreaming ; and as for the Ro- 
man stage, if any thing could apologize for the Major's screen, 
I conceived there were screens in plenty upon that, which 
formed separate streets and entrances, which concealed the ac- 
tors frfem each other, and gave occasion to a great deal of list- 
ening and over-hearing in their comedy. 

'< But this occurs," said Lord Lyttleton, " from the con- 
" struction of the scene, not from the contrivance and intent 
*♦ of the character, as in your case ; and v/hen such an expedi- 
" ent is resorted to by an officer like your Major, it is discred- 
♦< itable and unbecoming of him as a man of honour." This 
was decisive, and I made no longer any struggle. What my 
predecessors in the drama, who had been dealers in screens, 
closets and key-holes for a century past, would have said to 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 127 

this doctrine of the noble critic, I don't pretend to guess : it 
would have made sad havoc with many of them and cut deep 
^nto their property ; ab for me, I had so weak a c.tu le and so 
strong a majority against me, (for every lady in the room de- 
nounced listeneri) that all I could do was to insert without loss 
of time a few words of palliation into the Major's part, by 
making him say upon resorting to his hiding place — /'// step 
behind this screen and listen : a good soldier must sometimes fight 
in ambush us <vjeU as in the openjield. 

I now leave this criticism to the consideration of those in- 
genious men, who may in future cultivate the stage ; I could 
name one now living, who has made such happy use of his 
sci-een in a comedy of the very first merit, that if Aristotle 
him.-elf had written a whole chapter professedly against screens, 
and Jerry Collier had edited it with notes and illustrations, 
I would not have placed lady Teazle out of ear-shot to have 
saved their ears from the pillory : but if either of these wor- 
thies could have pointed out an expedient to have got Joseph 
Surface otftlie stage, pending that scene, with any reasonable 
conformity to nature, they would have done more good to the 
drama than either of them have done harm ; and that is saying 
a great deal. 

There never have been any statute-laws for comedy ; there 
never can be any : it is only referable to the unwritten law of 
the heart, and that is nature ; now tliough the natural child is 
illegitimate, the natural comedy is according to my conception 
of it what in other words we denominate the legitimate come- 
dy. If it represents men and women as they are, it pictures 
nature ; if it makes monsters, it goes out of nature. It has a 
right to command the aid of spectacle, as far as spectacle is 
properly incidental to it, but if it makes its serving-maid its 
mistress, it becomes a puppet-show, and its actors ought to 
speak through a comb behind the scenes, and never shew their 
foolish faces on the stage. If the atithor conceives himself at 
liberty to send his characters on and off the stage exactly as he 
pleases, and thrust them into gentlemen's houses and private 
chambers, as if they could walk into them as easily as they can 
walk through the side scenes, he does not know his bu>iness ; 
if he gives you the interior of a man of fashion's family, and 
does not speak the language, or reflect the manners, of a well- 
bred person, he undertakes to describe company he has never 
been admitted to, and is an impostor : if he cannot exhibit a 
distressed gentleman on the scene without a bailiff at his heels 
to arrest him, nor reform a dissipated lady without a spunging- 
house to read his lectures in, I am sorry for his dearth of fan- 
cy, and lament his want of taste : if he cannot get his Pegasus 
past Newgate without his restively stopping like a post horse 
at the end of his stage, it is a pity he has taught him such un- 
handsome customs : if h.e permits the actor, wJiom he deputes 



128 MEMOIRS OF 

to personate the rake of the day, to copy the dress, air, atti« 
tude, straddle and outrageous indecorum of those caricatures 
in our print-shops, which keep no terms with nature, he courts 
the galleries at the expense of decency, and degrades himself, 
his actor, and the stage to catch those plaudits, that convey no 
fame, and do not elevate him one inch above the keeper of the 
beasts of the Tower, who puts his pole between the bars to 
make the lion roar. In short it is much better, more justifi- 
able and infinitely more charitable, to write nonsense and 
set it to good music, than to write ribaldry, and impose it upon 
good actors. But of this more fully and explicitly hereafter, 
when committing myself and my works to the judgment of 
posterity, I shall take leave of my contemporaries, and with 
every parting wish for their prosperity shall bequeath to them 
honestly and without reserve all that my observation and long 
experience can suggest for their edification and advantage. 

However, before I quite bid farewel to The West-Indian, I 
must mention a criticism, which I picked up in Rotten-Row 
from Nugent Lord Clare, not ex cathedra., but from the saddle 
on an ea'-y trot. His lordship was contented with the play in 
general, but he could not relish the five wives of O'Flaherly ; 
they were foiu- coo many for an honest man, and the over- 
abundance of them hurt his lordship's feelings ; I thought I 
could not have a better criterion for the feelings of other peo- 
ple, and desired Moody to manage the matter as well as he 
could ; he put in the qualifier of en militaire, and his five 
"wives brought him into no farther trouble ; all but one were 
let\ --handed, antl he had German practice for his plea. Upon 
the whole I must take the world's word for the merit of The 
West-Indian, and thankfully suppose that what they best liked 
was in fact best to be liked. 

A little f traw will serve to light a great fire, and after the 
acting of the West-Indian, I would say, if the comparison was 
not too presumptuous, I was almost the Master Betty of the 
time ; but as I dare say tliat young gentleman is even now too 
old and too wise to be spoilt by popularity, so was I then not 
quite boy enough to be tickled by it, and not quite fool enough 
to confide in it. In short I took the same course then which 
he is taking now ; as he keeps on acting part after part, so did 
I persist in writing play after play ; and this, if I am not mis- 
taken, is the surest course we either of us could take of running 
through our period of popularity, and of finding our true level 
at the conclusion of it. 

I recollect the fate of a young artist in Northamptonshire, 
who was famous for his adroitness in pointing and repairing 
the spires of church-steeples ; he foi-med his scaffolds with con- 
summate ingenuity, and mounted his ladders with incredible 
success. The spire of the church of Raunds was of prodigious 
height ; it over-peered all its neighbours, as Shakspeare does 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 129 

all his rivals ; the young adventurer was employed to fix the 
weather-cock ; he mounted to the topmost stone, in which the 
spindle was bedded ; universal plaudit;; hailed him in his as- 
cent ; he found himself at the very acme of his fame, but glo- 
rious ambition tempted him to quit hi ladder, and occupy the 
place of the weather-cock, standing upon one leg, while he 
sung a song to amaze the rustic multitude below : what the 
song was, and how many stanzas he lived to get through I do 
not know ; he sung it in too large a theatre, and was somewhat 
oat of hearing ; but it is in my memory to know that he came 
to his cadence before his song did, ancl falling from hie height 
left the world to draw its moral from his melanchoiy fate. 

I now for the first time entered the lists of controversy, and 
took up the gauntlet of a renowned champion to vindicate the 
insulted character of my grandfather Doctor Bentley. The 
offensive passage met me in a pamphlet written by Bishop 
Lowth professedly against Warburton, acrimonious enough of 
all conscience, and unepiscopally intemperate in the highest de- 
gree, even if his lordship had not gone out of his course to hurl 
this dirt upon the coffin of my ancestor. The bishop is now 
dead, .?nd I will not use his name izTeverently ; my grandfather 
was dead, yet he stept as'de to hook him in as a mere 'verbal 
critic, who in matters of taste and elegan!: literature he asserts 
was contemptibly deficient, and then he resorts to his Catullus 
for the most disgracefel names he can give him as a scholar or 
a gentleman, and says he was aut coprimulgui aut fossor, terms, 
that in English, would have been downright blackguardism. 

All the world knov/s that Warburton and Lowth had mouth- 
ed and mumbled each other till their very bands blushed and 
their lawn-sleeves were bloody. I should have thought that the 
prelate, who had V/arburton for his antagonist, would hardly 
have found leisure fiom his own self-defence to have turned 
aside and fixed his teeth in a bye-stander. Yet so it was, and 
it i-truck me that the unmanly unprovoked attack not only war- 
ranted, but demanded, a remonstrance from the descendants 
of Doctor Bentley. I stood only in the second degree fiom 
my uncle Richard, and as much belov/ him in controversial 
ability, as I was in lineal descent. I appealed therefore in the 
first place to him, as nearest in blood, and strongest in capaci- 
ty. His blood, however, was not in the temper to ferment as 
mine did, and with a philosophical contempt for this sparring 
of pens he positively declined having any thing to do with the 
affair. I well remember, but I won't describe the scene ; he 
was very pleasant with me, and reminded me with great kind- 
ness how utterly unequal I ought to think myoelffor undertak- 
ing to hold an argument against Bishop Lowth. He was 
perfectly right ; it was exactly so that a sensible Roman 
would nave talked to Curtius before he took his foolish leap, or 
a charitable European to a Bramin widow before she devoted 



130 MEMOIRS OF 

herself to the flames ; but my obstinacy was incorrigible. At 
length having warned me that I was about to draw a complete 
discomfiture on my cause, he prudently conditioned with me 
so to mark myself out, either by name or description, in the 
title of my pampiilet, as that he should stand excused, and out 
of chance of being mistaken for its author. Nothing could be 
more reasonable, and I promised to comply with his injunc- 
tions, and be duly careful of his safety. This I fuinlied by de- 
scribing myself under such a signature, as all but told my 
name, and could not possibly, as I conceived, be fathered upon 
him. With this he was content, and with great politeness, in 
which no man exceeded him, gave me his hand at parting and 
wished me a good deliverance. 

I lost no time in addres.^ing myself to this task ; it soon grew 
into the si/eofa pamphlet ; my heart was warm in the subject, 
and as soon as my appeal appeared I was publicly known to be 
the author of it. I may venture to say, that weak as my bow 
was presumed to be, the arrow did not miss its aim, and jus- 
tice universally decided for me. Warburton had candidly 
apologized to Lowth for having unknowingly hurt his feelings 
by some glances he had made at the person of a deceased rela- 
tion of the Bishop of Oxford, and I now claimed from Lowth 
the same candour, which he had experienced in the apology of 
Warburton. This was unanswerable, and though Bish6p 
Lowth would not condescend to offer the atonement to me, 
which he had exacted and received from another, still he had 
the grace to keep silence, and not attempt a justification of 
himself, and that, which he did not do per se, he would not 
permit to be done per alium ; for I have reason to know he re- 
fused the voluntary reply, tendered to him by a certain cler- 
gyman of his diocese, acknowledging that I had just reason 
for retaliation, and he thought it better that the affair should 
pass over in silence on his part. 

In the mean time my pamphlet went through two full edi- 
tions, and I had every reason to believe the judgment of the 
public was in my favour. I entitled it " A Letter to the Right 

*' Reverend the Lord Bishop of O d, containing some ani- 

" madversions upon a character given of the late Doctor Bent- 
" ley in a letter from a late Professor in the University of Ox- 
" ford, to the Right Reverend Author of the Divine Legation 
<* of Moses demonstrated." — To this I subjoined, by way of 
motto, 

ya:n parce Sepulto. 

The following paragraph occurs in the 9th page of this pam- 
phlet, and is fairly pressed upon the party complained of 

" Recollect, my Lord, the warmth, the piety, with which 

" you remonstrated against Bishop W 's treatment of your 

" father in a passage of his Julian : — It is not, (you therein say) 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 131 

'* in behalf of myself that I expostulate, but of one, for ivhom I 
" am »iuch more concerned, that is — >ny father. These are your 
•* lordship's words — amiable, affecting expression ! instructive 
** lesson of filial devotion ! alas, my lord, that you, who Avere 
*< thus sensible to the least speck, which fell upon the rcputa- 
" tion of your father, should be so inveterate against the fame 
*' of one, at least as eminent and perhaps not less dear to his 
«« family." 

I had traced his caprimulgas aut fossor up to its source in one 
of the most imcleanly samples in Catullus, and in that same 
satire I was led to the character of Suftenus, who seemed made 
for the very pui-poses of retort. My uncle Bentley stood clear 
from all suspicion of being guilty of the pamphlet, with the 
exception of one old gentleman only, Mr. Commissary Greaves 
of Fulborne in Cambridgeshire, a man of fortune and conse- 
quence in his county, who had ever professed a great esteem 
for the memory of my grandfather, with whom he had lived in 
great intimacy, and to whom I believe he acknowledged some 
important obligations. This worthy old gentleman had made 
a small mistake as to the merit of the pamphlet, and a great 
one as to autlior ; for he complimented the writing, and sent 
a handsome present to the supposed writer. When this mis- 
take was no longer a secret from Mr. Greaves, and I received 
not a syllable on the subject from him, I sent him the following 
letter, of which I chanced upon the copy, for the better un- 
derstanding of which I must premise that he had sent me no- 
tice, through my relation Doctor Bentley of Nailstone, of a 
present of books, which he had designed for me, when I was 
a student at college, amounting in value to twenty pounds, 
but which promise he excused himself from performing, be- 
cause there had been a wet season, and some of his fen lands 
had been under water — 

My letter was as follows — 
" Dear Sir, 

" When in the warmth of your affection for the 
** memory of my grandfather you could praise a pamphlet 
" written by me, and address your praises to my uncle, as 
** supposing him to be the author of it, I am more flattered 
*' by your mistake, than I will attempt to express to you. 
<* You have ever been so good to me, that had your commen- 
** dations been directed rightly, I must have ascribed the 
*' greater share of them to your charitable interpretation of 
** my zeal, and the rest I should have placed to the account of 
** your politeness. 

" When I was an Under-graduate at Tnnity-college, you 
** was so obliging as to let me be informed of your intention to 
" encourage and assist me in my studies, and though circum= 
** stances at that time intervened to postpone your kind design, 
'* you have so abundantly overpaid me, tJiat J have no greater 



132 MEMOIRS OF 

*< ambition now at heart than that I may continue so to write 
*' as to be mistaken for my uncle, and you so to approve of what 
" you read, as to see fresh cause of applauding him, who is so 
*' truly deserving of every favour you can bestow." 

" I have the honour to be," &c. 
•*< To William Greaves, Esquire, 
" Fulbourne." 

Before I quite dismiss this subject I beg leave to address a 
very few words to my friend Mr. Hayley, who in his desultory 
remarks, prefixed to his third volume of Cowper's Letters, has 
in his mild and civil manner made merciless and uncivil sport 
with Dr. Bentley's character. I give him notice that I meditate 
to wreak an exemplary vengeance xipon him, for I will publish 
in these memoirs a copy of his verses, (very elegant in them- 
eelves, and extremely flattering to me) which I have carefully 
preserved, and fi-om which I shall derive two very considerable 
advantages — the one will be the credit of having such a sample 
of good poetry in my book ; the other the malicious gratifica- 
tion of convincing my readers, that Mr. Hayley, with all his 
genius, does not know where to apply it, praising the grandson, 
who is not worthy of his praise, and censuring the grandfather, 
whom, as a scholar of the highest class, he of all men living 
ought not to have treated with flippancy and derision. 

And now methinks since I have vowed this vengeance, I will 
not let it rankle in my heart, neither will I longer withhold from 
my readers the versL\s I have promised them, which, though en- 
titled an impromptu by their elegant author, I have not suffered 
to vanish out of my possession with the rapidity, that they have 
probably slipt out of his recollection. If he shall be angry with 
me for publishing them, I desire he will believe, there is not a 
man living, who would not do as I have done, when flattered 
by the muse of Hayley : if the following hasty and unstudied 
stanzas are not so good as others of his finished compositions, 
they are still better than any one else would write, or could 
write, upon so barren a subject — 

*' Impromptu on a Letter of Mr, Cumberland's most liberally covi- 
" mending a Poem of the Author s — " 

** Kind nature with delight regards, 

" And glories to impart, 
*< To her bold race of genuine bard* 

" Simplicity of heart. 

" But gloomy spleen, who still arraigns 

" "v^'hate'er we lovely call, 
" Hath said that all poetic veins 

** Are ting'd with envious gall. 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. tss- 

«* Each bard, she said, would strike to earth 

" His rival's wreath of fame, 
*' Nor ever^o infcriorworth 

" Allow its humbler claim. 

" But nature with a noble pride 

" Maintain'd her injur'd cause — 
** O Spleen, peruse these lines," she cried, 

" Of Cumberland's applause ! 

" Enough by me hast thou been told 

" Of his poetic ail ; 
" Now in his generous praise behold 

" The genius of his heart !" 

The sullen sprite with shame confess'd 

Her sordid maxim vain. 
And own'd the true poetic breast 

Unconscious of the stain. 

Whilst I have been relating the circumstances, that induced 
me to appeal to tlie world against so great a man as Bishop 
Lowth, and considering within myself how far I was justified 
in that apparently presumptuous measure, some thoughts have 
struck me, as I went on with my detail, which all arose out of 
the subject I was upon, though they do not personally apply 
to the parties I have been speaking of : And after all where is 
the difterence between man and man, so ascendant on one side^ 
and so depressive on the other, as should give to this an au- 
thority to insult, and take from that the privilege of remon- 
strance ? It is a truth not sufficiently enforced, and when en- 
forced, not always admitted, though one of the most useful and 
important for the government of our conduct, and this it is — 
that every man, Ijx^ever great in station or in fortune, is mu- 
tually dependent upon those, who are dependent upon him. In 
a social state no man can be truly said to be safe who is not 
under the protection of his fellow-creatures ; no man can be 
called happy, who is not possessed of their good will and good 
opinion ; for God never yet endowed a human creature with 
sensibility to feel an insult, but that he gave him also powers to 
express his feelings, and propensity to revenge it. 

The meanest and most feeble insect, that is provided with a 
sting, may pierce the eye of the elephant, on whose very oi'dure 
it subsists and feeds. 

Every human being has a sting ; why then does an over* 
grown piece of mortal clay arrogantly attempt to bestride the 
narro<iu <u;or!d, and launch his artificial thunder from a bridge 
of brass upon us poor underlings in creation ? And when we 
veature to lift up our heads in the crowd, and cry out to the 
M 



134 MEMOIRS OF 

folks about us — " This is mere mock thunder ; this is no true 
" Jupiter ; we'll not truckle to his tyranny," — why will some 
good-natured friend be ever ready to pluck us by the sleeve, 
and whisper in our ear — " What are you about ? Recollect 
" yourself ! he is a giant, a man-mountain ; you are a grub, a 
*' wonn, a beetle ; he'll crush you under his foot ; he'll tread 
*' you into atoms — " not considering, or rather not caring — 

" That the poor beetle, which he trode upon, 
" In mental suffrance felt a pang as great, 
<' As what a monarch feels " 

Let no man, who belongs to a community, presume to say 
that he is independent. There is no such condition in society.. 
Thank God, our virtues are our best defence. Conciliation, 
mildness, charity, benevolence — Hu: tibi ermit artes. 

Are there not spirits continually starting out from the mass 
of mankind, like red-hot flakes from the hammer of the black- 
smith I And are not these to be fcaied, who are capable of set- 
ting a whole city — aye, even a whole kingdom — in flames, let 
them only fail upon the train, that is prepared for them l Who 
then will underwrite a strutting fellow in a lofty station, puf- 
fed up with brief authority, who won't answer a gentleman's 
letter, or allow his visit, when he asks admission ? If he had 
the integrity of Aristides, the wisdom of Solon and the elo- 
quence of Demosthenes, there would be the congregation of an 
incalculable multitude to sing 7"!? Demn at his downfall. He 
will find himself in the pliglit of the poor Arab, who made his 
cream-tarts without pepper ; for want of a little wholesome 
seasoning he will ha'/e marred his whole batch of pastry, and 
be condemned for a bad baker to the pillory. 

A man shall sin against the whole decalogue, and in this 
world escape with more impunity, than th^roud fellow, who 
offends against no commandment, yet proTOkes you to detest 
him. I know not how to liken him to any thing alive, except 
it be to the melancholy mute recluse of the cojivent of La 
Trappe, who has no employment in life but to dig his own 
grave, no other society but to keep company with his own cof- 
fin. If I look for his resemblance amongst the irrationals, I 
should compare him to a poor disconsolate ass, whom nobody 
owns and nobody befriends. The man who has a cudgel, be- 
stows it on his back, and when he brays out his piteous lamen- 
tations, the dissonance of his tones provoke no compassion ; 
they jarr the ear, but never move the heart. 

A certain duke of Alva about a century ago was the most 
popular man in Spain : the people perfectly adored him. He 
had a revolution in his power every day that he stept without 
his doors. The prime minister truckled to him ; the king 
trembled at him. How he acquired this extraordinaiy degree 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 135 

of infiucnce was a mystery, that seemed to puzzle all conjee^ 
ture — not by his eloquence, or those powers of declamation, 
which captivate a mofc ; the illustrious personage could not 
striiig three sentences together into common sense or uncom- 
mon nonsense : wit he had none, and virtue he by no means 
abou-ided in ; few men in Spain were supposed to be more un- 
principled ; if yoa conceived it v-zas by his munificence and 
generosity, he could have told you no man bought his popular- 
ity so cheap, for when the secret came out, he confessed, that 
the whole mystery consisted in his wearing out a few more 
hats in the year than others sacrificed, who did not take off 
their's so often. 

I knew a gentleman, who was the very immediate contrast to 
this Spanish duke ; he was a man of strict morality, who ful- 
filled tlie duties and observed the decorum of his profes.-ion in 
the most exemplary manner ; in his meditative walk one sum- 
mer-morning he was greeted by a country fellow with the cus- 
tomary salutation — " Good morning to you. Sir ! — a fine day 
" — a pleasant walk to you !" — " I don't know you," he re- 
plied, " why do you interrupt me with your familiarity ? I 
" did not speak to you ; put your hat upon your head, and 
" pass on ! — " " So I will," cried the fellow, " and nevei'take 
*' it off again to such a proud puppy, whilst I have a head up- 
" on my shoulders — " There never was a hat stirred to that 
man from that day, and had he fallen into a ditch, I question 
if there would have been a hand stirred to have helped him 
out of it. 

I return to my narrative — I had a house in Queen-Ann- 
Street -West at the corner of Wimpole-Street, I lived there ma- 
ny years ; my friend Mr. Fitzherbeit lived in the same street, 
and Mr. Burke nearly opposite to me. I was surprised one 
morning at an early hour by a visit from an old clergyman, the 
Reverend Decimus Reynolds. I knew there was such a per- 
son in existence, and that he was the son of Bishop Reynolds 
by my father's aunt, and of cour;:e his first cousin, but I had 
never seen him to my knowledge in my life, and he came now 
at an hour when I was so particularly engaged, that I should 
have denied myself to him but that he had called once or twice 
before and been disappointed of seeing me. I had my office 
papers before me, and my wife was making my tea, that I 
might get down to Whitehall in time for my business, and the 
coach was waiting at the door. He was shewn into the room ; 
a more uncouth person, habit and address was hardly to be met 
with : he advanced, stopt, and stood staring with his eyes fixed 
upon me for some time, when, putting his hand into a pocket 
in the lining of the breast of his coat, he drew out an old pack- 
et of paper rolled up and tied with whip-cord, and very cere- 
moniously det.ired me to peruse it. I begged to know what it 
was ; for it was a work of time to unravel the knots — he re- 



1S6 MEMOIRS OF 

plied — " My will." And what am I to do with your will, 
Sir ? — " My heir — " Weil, Sir, and who is your heir ? (I really 
did not understand him) — " Richard Cumberland — look at the 
** date — left it to you twenty years ago — my whole estate — 
*' real and personal — come to town on purpose — ^brought up 
*' my little deeds — put them into your hands — sign a deed of 
" gift, and make them over to you hard and fast." 

All this while I had not looked at his will ; I did not know he 
had any property, or, if he had, I had no guess where it lay, 
nor did I so much as know whereabouts he lived. In the mean 
time he delivered himself in so strange a style, by scarts and 
snatches, with long pauses and strong sentences, that I suspect- 
€d him to be deranged, and I saw by the expression of my wife's 
countenance, that she was under the same suspicion also. I 
now cast my eye upon the will ; I found my name there as his 
heir under a date of twenty years past ; it was therefore no 
sudden caprice, and I conjured him to tell me if he had any 
cause of quarrel or displeasure with his nearer relations. Up- 
on this he sate down, took some time to compose himself, for 
he had been greatly agitated, and having recovered his spirits, 
answered me deliberately and calmly, that he had no imme- 
diate matter of offence with his relations, but he had no obliga- 
tions to them of any sort, and had been entirely the founder of 
his own fortune, wliich by marriage he had acquired and by 
economy improved. I stated to him that my friend and cousin 
Mr. Richard Reynolds, of Paxton in Huntingdonshire was his 
natural heir, and a man of most unexceptionable worth and 
good character : he did not deny it, but he was wealthy and 
childless, and he had bequeathed it to me, as his will would 
testify, twenty years ago, as being the representative of the 
maternal branch of his family : in fine he required of me to ac- 
company him to my conveyancer, and direct a positive deed of 
gift to be drawn up, for which purpose he had brought his title 
deeds with him, and should leave them in my hands. He add- 
ed in further vindication of his motives, that my father had been 
ever his most valued friend, that he had constantly watched my 
conduct and scrutinised my character, although he had not seen 
occasion to establish any personal acquaintance with me. Up- 
on this explanation, and the evidence of his having inherited no 
atom of his fortune from his paternal line, I accepted his boun- 
ty so far as to appoint the next morning for calling on Mr. 
Heron, who then had chambers in Gray's Inn, when I would 
state the case to him, and refer myself to his judgment and 
good counsel. The result of my conference with the lately de- 
ceased Sir Richard Heron was the insertion of a clause of re- 
sumption, empowering the donor to revoke his deed at any fu- 
ture time when he should see fit, and this clause I particularly 
pointed out to my benefactor when he signed the deed. 

It was with difficulty I prevailed upon him to admit it, and 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 137 

can witness to the uneasiness it gave him, whilst he prophet- 
ically said I had left him exposed to the solicitations and remon- 
strances of his nephewSj^nd that the time might come, when in 
the debility of age and irresolution of mind, he might be press- 
ed into a revocation of what he had decided upon as the most 
deliberate act of his life. 

My kind old friend stood a long siege before he suffered his 
prediction to take place ; for it was not till after nearly ten 
years of uninterrupted cordiality, that, weak and wearied out 
by importunity, he capitulated with his besiegers, and sending 
his nephew into my house in Queen -Ann-Street unexpectedly 
one morning, surprised me with a demand, that I would render 
back the whole of his title deeds : I delivered them up exactly 
as I had received them ; his messenger put them into his hack- 
ney coach and departed. 

In consequence of this proceeding I addressed the following 
letter to the Reverend Mi". Decimus Reynolds at Clophill in 
Bedfordshire. 

" Queen-Ann-Street, 
" Dear Sir, " Monday l3th Jan. 1779. 

" I received your letter by the conveyance of Major 
" George Reynolds, and in obedience to your commands have 
"resigned into his hands all yom^ title deeds, entrusted to my 
*' custody. I would have had a sehedule taken of them by 
" Mr. Kipling for your better satisfaction and security, but as 
« your directions were peremptory, and Major Reynolds, who 
« was ill, might have been prejudiced by any delay, I thought 
«' it best to put tliem into his hands without further form, 
*' which be assured I have done without the omission of one, 
" for they have lain under seal at my banker's ever since they 
" have been committed to my care. 

" Whatever motives may govern you, dear Sir, for recalling 
" either your confidence, or your bounty, from me and my 
*' family, be assured you will still possess and retain my grati» 
*' tude and esteem. I have only a second time lost a father, 
*' and I am now too much in the habit of disappointment and 
« misfortune, not to acquiesce with patience under the dis- 
*' pensation. 

" You well can recollect, that your first bounty was unex- 
" pected and unsolicited : it would have been absolute, if I 
<* had not thought it for my reputation to make it conditional, 
" and subject to your revocation : perhaps I did not believe 
" you would revoke it, but since you have been induced to 
" wish it, believe me I rejoice in the reflection, that every thing 
" has been done by me for your accommodation, and I had 
" rather my children should inherit an honourable poverty^ 
•'than an ample patrimony, which caused the giver of it one 
'< moment of regret. 

<* I believe I have some few papers still at Tetworth, which I 
Ms 



138 MEMOIRS OF 

« received from you in the country. I shall shortly go down 
" thither, and will wait upon you with them. At the same 
" time, if you wish to have the original conveyance of your 
« lands, as drawn up by Sir Richard Heron, I shall obey you 
« by returning it : the uses being cancelled, the form can be of 
«' little value, and I can bear in memory your former goodness 
*' without such a remembrancer. 

" Mrs. Cumberland and my daughters join me in love and 
" respects to you and Mrs. Reynolds, whom by this occasion I 
" beg to thank for all her kindnet^s to me and mine. I spoke 
«* yesterday to sir Richard Heron" [Sir Richard Heron was Chief 
Secretary in Ireland] " and pressed with more than common 
** earnestness upon him to fulfil your wishes in favour of Mr. 
" Decimus Reynolds in Ireland.. It would be much satisfac- 
" tion to me to hear the deeds came safe to hand, and I hope 
" you will favour me with a line to say so. 

" I arn, &c. &c. 

« R. C." 

I have been the more particular in the detail of this transac- 
tion, because I had been unfairly represented by a relation, 
whom in tl'.e former part of these memoirs I have recorded as 
the friend of my youth ; a man, whom I dearly loved, and to- 
wards whom I had conducted myself through the whole prog- 
ress of this affair with the strictest honour and good faith, volun- 
tarily subjecting myself, the father of six children, to be depriv- 
ed of a valuable gift, which the bestower of it wished to have 
been absolute and irrevocable. 

That relation is yet living, and by some few years an older 
man than I am. Though I may have ceased to live in his re- 
membrance, he has not lost his place in my affection and re- 
gard. I v>rish him health and happiness for the remainder of 
his days, and, in the perfect consciousness of having merited 
more kindness than I have received, bid him heartily farewell. 

There was more celebrity attached to the success of a nevy 
play in the days, of which 1 am speaking, than in the present 
time when — - 

Portents and prodigies are gro<ivn so frequent y 
That they have lost their name. 

The happy hit of The West-Indian drew a considerable re 
3ort of the friends and followers of the Muses to my liouse. 1 
was superlatively blest in a wife, who conducted my family 
with due attention to my circumstances, yet with every ele- 
gance and comfort, that could render it a welcome and agree- 
able rendezvous to my guests. I had six children, whose birth 
days were comprised v/ithin the period of six years, and they 
were by no iiieans trained and educated with that la-xity of dis^ 



RICHARP CUMBERLAND. 13« 

cipline, whicli renders so many houses terrible to the visitor, 
and almost justifies Foote ia his professed veneration for the 
character of H.'rod. My young ones stood like little soldiers 
to be reviewed by those, who wished to have them drawn up 
for inspection, and were dismissed like soldiers at a woid. Few 
pai"ents havi more excuse for being vain than my wife and I had, 
for I maybe allowed to say my daughters even then gave prom- 
ise of that grace and b^aaty, for which they al'terwards be- 
came so generally and conjpicuously noticed ; and my four 
boys were not behind them in form or feature, tiioagh hot cli- 
mates and hard duty by sea and land; in the service of their king 
and country, have laid two of them in distant graves, and ren- 
dered the survivors war-worn veterans before their time. Even 
poor Fitzherbert, my unhappy and lamented friend, with all his 
fond benignity of soul could not with his caresses introduce a 
relaxation of discipline in the ranks of our small infantry ; and 
though Garrick could charm a circle of them aboul him whilst 
he acted the turkey-cocks, and peacocks, and water-wagtails to 
their intinile ;u'id undescribaljle amusement, yet at the word or 
even look of the mother, hi ,n3tus anhnoriini were instantly com- 
posed, and order re-established, whenever it became time to re- 
lease their generous entertainer from the trouble of his exertions. 

Ah ! I would wish the world to b-'lieve, tJiat they take but a 
very shoii; and impartial estimate of that departed character, 
who Oiily appreciate him as the best actor in the world : he was 
more and better than that excellence alone could make him by 
a thousand estimable qualities, and mucii as I enjoyed his com- 
pany, I have been more gratilied by the emanations of his heart 
than by the sallies of his fancy and imagination. Nature had 
done so much for him, that he could not help being an actor ; 
she gave him a frame of so manageable a proportion, and from, 
its Hexibility so perfectly under command, that by its aptitude 
and elasticity he could draw it out to fit any sizes of character, 
that tragedy could ofler to him, and contract it to any scale of 
ridiculous diminution, that his Abel Drugger, Scrub, or Fribble, 
could require of him to sink it to. His eye in the mean time 
Avas so penetrating, so speaking ; his brov.' so moveable, and all 
his features so plastic, and so accommodating, that wherever- 
his mind impelled tnem they v/ould go, and before his tongue 
could give the text, his cou.ntenance would express the spirit 
and the passion of the part he was encharged with. 

I always studied the assortment of the characters, who hon- 
oured me with their company, so as never to bring uncongenial 
humours into contact with each other. How often have I seen 
all the objects of society frustrated by inattention to the proper 
grouping of the guests ! The sensibility of some men of genius 
is so quick and captious, that you must first consider whom they 
can be happ/ with, before you can promise yourself any happi- 
ness with them. A rivalry ia wit and humour will oftentimes 



HO MEMOIRS OF 

render both 'parties silent, and put them on their guard ; if a 
chance hit, or lucky sally, on the part of a competitor, engrosses 
the applause of the table, ten to one if the stricken cock ever 
crows upon the pit agam : a matter-of-fact man will make a 
pleasant fellow sullen, and a sullen fellow, if provoked by rail- 
lery, will disturb the comforts of the whole society. 

It is tiresome listening to the nonsense of those, who can talk 
nothing else, but nonsense talked by men of wit and understand- 
ing, in the hour of relaxation, is of the" very finest essence of 
conviviality, and a treat delicious to those, who have the sense 
to comprehend it. I have known, and could name many, who 
understood this art in its perfection, but as it implies a trust in 
the company, not always to be risked, their practice of it was 
not very frequent. 

Raillery is of all weapons the most dangerous and two-edged ; 
of course it ought never to be handled, but by a gentleman, 
and never should be played with, but upon a gentleman ; 
the familiarity of a low-born vulgar man is dreadful ; his raille- 
ry, his jocularity, like the shaking of a water-spaniel, can never 
fail to soil you with some sprinkling of the dunghill, out of 
which he sprung. 

A disagreement about a name or a date will mar the best sto- 
ry, tiiat was ever put ;togeli-er. Sir Joshua Reynolds luckily 
could not hear an inter; apter of this sort ; Jonrison would not 
hear, or if he heard him, would not heed him ; Soame Jenyns 
heard liini, heeded him, set him riglit, and took up his tale, 
where he had left it, without any diminution of its humour, 
adding only a few moretvi^ists so his snuff-box, a few more taps 
upon the lid of ii, with a preparatory grunt or two, the invari- 
able forerunners of the amenity, that was at the heels of them. 
He was the man, who bore his part in all societies with the 
most even tem.per and undisturbed hilarity of all the good com- 
panions, whom I ever knew. He came into your house at the 
very moment you had put upon your card ; he dressed himself to 
do your party honour in all the colour', of the jay ; his lace in- 
deed had long since lost its lustre, but his coat had faithfully re- 
tained its cut since tlie days, when gentlemen embroidered figur- 
ed velvets with short sleeves, boot cuffs, and buckram skirts ; 
as nature had cast him in the exact mould of an ill-made pair of 
stiff stays, he followed her close in the fashion of his coat, that 
it was doubted if he did not wear them : because he had a pro- 
tuberant wen just under his pole, he wore a vv'ig, that did not 
cover above half his head. His eyes were protruded like the 
eyes of the lobster, who wears them at the end of his feelers, 
and yet there was room between one of these and his nose for 
another wen that added nothing to his beauty ; yet I heard this 
good man very innocently remark, when Gibbon published his 
history, that he wondered any body so ugly could write a book. 

Such was the exterior of a man, who was the charm of the 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. I4i 

circle, and gave a zest to eveiy company he came into ; his 
pleasantry was of a sort peculiar to himself ; it harmonized 
with every thing ; it Wtft like the bread to our dinner ; you 
did not perhaps make it the whole, or principal part, of your 
meal, but it v^'as an admirable and v/holesorne auxiliary to your 
other viands. Soame Jenyns told you no long stories, engross- 
ed not much of your attention, and was not angry with those 
that did ; his thoughts were original, and were apt to have a 
very whimsical affinity to the paradox in them : he wrote verses 
upon dancing, and prose upon the origin of evil, yet he was a 
very indifferent metaphysician and a worse dancer ; ill nature 
and personality, with the single exception of his lines upon 
Johnson, I never heard fall from his lips ; those lines I have 
forgotten, though I believe I was the first person to vi'hom he 
recited them ; they were very bad, but he had been told that 
Johnson ridiculed his metaphysics, and som.e cf us had just 
then been making extemporary epitaphs upon each other : 
though his wit was harmless, yet the general cast of it was iron- 
ical ; there was a terseness in his repartees, that had a play of 
words as well as of thought, as when speaking of the differ- 
ence between laying out money upon land, or purchasing into 
the funds, he said, " One was principal without interest, and 
'< the other interest without principal." Certain it is he had a 
brevity of expression, that never hung upon the eai", and you 
felt the point in the very moment that he made the push. It 
was rather to be lamented that his lady Mrs. Jenyns had so 
great a respect for his good sayings, and so imperfect a recol- 
lection of them, for though she always prefaced her recitals of 
them with — as Mr. Jenyns says — it was not always what Mr. 
Jenyns said, and never, I am apt to think, as Mr. Jenyns said ; 
but she was an excellent old lady, and twirled her fan with as 
much mechanical address as her ingenious husband twirled his 
snuff-box. 

The brilliant vivacity of Garrick was subject to be clouded ; 
little flying stories had too much of his attention, and more of 
his credit than they should have had ; and certainly there were 
too many babblers who had access to his ear. There was some 
precaution necessary as to the company you associated with 
him at your table ; Fitzherbert understood that in general ad- 
mirably well, yet he told me of a certain day, when Gamck, 
who had perhaps been put a little out of his way, and was 
missing from the company, was found in the back yard acting 
a turkey-cock to a black boy, who was capering for joy and 
continually crying out — " Massa Garrick, do so make me 
«< laugh : I shall die with laughing — " The story I have no 
doubt is true ; but I rather thirik it indicates the very contrary 
from a ruffled temper, and marks good humour in its strongest 
light. To give amusement to children, and to take pleasure 
in th^ act, is such a sympton of suavity, as can never be mistaken. 



142 MEMOIRS OF 

I made a visit with him by his own proposal to Foote at 
Parson's Green ; I have heard it said he was reserved and un- 
easy in his company ; I never saw him more at ease and in a 
happier flow of spirits than on that occasion. 

Whei-e a Ioucl-:ongued talker was in company, Edmund 
Burke declined all claims upon attention, and Samuel Johnson, 
whose ears were not quick, seldom lent them to his conversa- 
tion, though he loved the man, and admired his talents : I 
have seen a dull damping matter-of-fact man quell the efFerves- 
cence even of Foote's unrivalled humour. 

But I remember full well, when Garrick and I made him the 
visit above-mentioned, poor Foote had something worse than 
a dull man to struggle with, and matter of fact brought home 
to him in a way, that for a time entirely overthrew his spirits, 
and most completely /rfghied bun from his propriety. We had 
taken him by surprise, and of course w^cre with him some 
hours before dinner, to make sure of our own if w-e had missed 
of his. He seemed overjoyed to see us, engaged us to stay, 
walked with us in his garden, and read to us some scenes 
roughly sketched for his Maid of Bath. His dinner was quite 
good enough, and his wine superlative : Sir Robert Fletcher, 
who had served in the East Indies, dropt in before dinner and 
made the fourth of our party : When we had passed about 
two hours in perfect harmony and hilarity, Gamck called for 
his tea, and Sir Robert rose to depart : there was an unlucky 
screen in the room, that hid the door, and behind which Sir 
Robert hid himself for some purpose, whether natural or arti- 
ficial I know not ; but Foote, supposing him gone, instantly 
began to play oft' his ridicule at the expense of his departed 
guest. I must confess it was (in the cant phrase) a ivay that 
he had, and just now a very imlucky way, for Sir Robert bolt- 
ing from behind the screen, cried out — " I am not gone, 
" Foote ; spare me till I am out of hearing ; and now with 
" your leave I will stay till these gentlemen depart, and then 
" you shall amuse me at their cost, as you have amused them 
" at mine." 

A remonstrance of this sort was an electric shock, that could 
not be parried. No wit could furnish an evasion, no explana- 
tion could suffice for an excuse. The offended gentleman was 
to the full as angry as a brave man ought to be with an unfor- 
tunate wit, who possessed very little of that quality, which he 
abounded in. This event, which deprived Foote of all pree- 
ence of mind, gave occasion to Garrick to display his genius 
and good nature in their brightest lustre : I never saw him in a 
more amiable liglit ; the infinite address and ingenuity, that he 
exhibited, in softening the enraged guest, and reconciling him 
to pass of er an aftront, as gross as could well be put upon a 
man, were at once the most comic and the most complete I 
ever witnessed. Why was not James Boswell present to have 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 143 

recorded the dialogue and the action of the scene ? My stupid 
head only carried away the effect of it. It was as if Diomed 
(who being the son of 'Pydeus wai I conclude a great hero in a 
small compash) had been shielding Thersites from the wrath of 
Ajax ; and so wrathful was our Aiax, that if I did not recol- 
lect there was a certain actor at Delhi, who in the height of the 
massacre channcd away the furious passions of Nadir Shaw^, 
and saved a remnant of the city, I should say this was a victory 
without a parallel. I hope Foote was very grateful, but when 
a man has been completely humbled, he is not \ery fond of 
recollecting it. 

There was a gentleman of very general notoriety at this 
time, who had tlie address to collect about hiin a considerable 
resort of men of wit and learning at no other expense on his 
part than of the meat and drink, which they consumed ; for 
as he had no predilection for reading their worlc^, he did not 
put himself to the charge of buying them. The gentleman 
himself was of the Scotish nation ; in that nobody could be 
mistaken ; all beyond that was matter of conjecture, save 
only that it was universally understood that Mr. Thomas Mills 
was under the protection of the great Lord Mansfield. Having 
been Town-Major of Quebec, he took the title of a field-offi- 
cer, and having been squire to a knight of the Bath on the cer- 
emony of an installation, he became Sir Thomas, and a knight 
himself. It was chiefly through my acquaintance with this 
gentleman that I became a member of a very pleasant society 
(for we never had the establishment of a club) who used to 
dine together upon stated days at the British Coffee-House, 
then kept by Mrs. Anderson, a person of great respectability. 
Many of the members of this society were men of the first em- 
inence for their talents, and as there was no exclusion in our 
system of any member's friend or friends, our parties were 
continually enlivened by the introduction of new guests, who 
of course furnished new sources for conversation from which 
politics and party seem.ed by general consent decidedly pro- 
scribed. Foote, Reynolds, Fitzherbcrt, Goldsmith, GaiTick, 
Macpherson, Doctors Carlisle, Robinson, Beattie, Caleb 
Whitefoord, with many others, resorted there as they saw 
fit. 

In one of these meetings it was suggested and recommended 
to me to take up the character of a North-Briton, as I had 
those of an Irishman and West-Indian. I observed, in answer 
to this, that I had not the same chance for success as I had in 
my sketch of O'Flaherty, for I had never re.-ided in Scotland, 
and should be perfectly to seek for the dialect of my hero. 
*' How could that be," Fitzherbert observed, "when I was 
** in the very place to find it, (alluding to the British-Coflee- 
House and the company we were in) " however," he added, 
*' give your Scotchman character, and take your chance for 



144 MEMOIRS OF 

«' dialect. If you bring a Roman on the stage, you don't 
« make him speak Latin — " " No, no," cried Foote, " and 
•' if you don't make him v/ear breeches, Garjick will be much 
" obliged to you. When I was at Stranraer I went to the 
** Kirk, where the MesE-John was declaiming most fmiously 
" against luxury, and, as heaven shall judge m.e, there was not 
♦' a pair of shoes in the whole congregation." 

This turned the conversation from my comedy to matters 
more am.uting, but the suggestion had taken hold of my fancy, 
and I began to fiame the character of Colin M;icleod upon the 
model of a Highland servant, who with scrupulous iniegrity, 
and a great deal of nationality about him, managed all the do- 
mestic aflairs of Sir Thomas Mill's household, and being a 
great favourite of every body, who resorted there, became in 
time, as it were, one of the company. With no other guide. 
for the dialect of my Macleod than what the Scotch characters 
of the stage supplied me wi.h, I endowed him with a good 
heart, and sent him to seek his fortune, 

I was aAvare 1 had some little fame at stake, and bestowed 
my utmost care and attention upon the writing of this come- 
dy : I availed myself of Pvlr. Ganick's judgment at all proper 
intervals as I advanced towards the completion of it. This I 
have acknowledged in the advertisement, and tlioiigh I did not 
form f^anguine hopes of its obtaining equal success with The 
West-Indian in representation, I confess I flattered myself that 
I had oiitgone that drama in point of composition. When I 
found tliat Garrick thought of it as I did, I ventured to avow 
my pi-eference in the prologue. I have been reading it over 
with attention, and so many years have passed since I wrote 
it, that I have very little of the feeling of the author when I 
speak of it. I rather think I was right in giving it the prefer- 
ence to the West -Indian, though I am far from sure I was un- 
prejudiced in my judgment at that time. An author, who is 
conscious that his new work will not be equally popular with 
his preceding one, will be very apt to imitate the dealer, who, 
having a pair of horses to sell, will bestow all his praise upon 
the worst, and leave the best to recommend himself. I verily 
believe if The Fashionable Lover was not my composition, and' 
I were called upon to give my opinic n of it, (speaking only of 
its merits, and reserving to myself my opinion of its faults) I 
should be inclined to say it was a drama of a moral, grave and 
tender cast, inasm.uch as I discovered in it fentiments, laudably 
directed against national prejudice, breach of trust, seduction, 
gaming, and the general dissipation of the time then present. 
I could not deny it a preference to the West-Indian in a m^oral : 
light, and perhaps, if I were in very good humour with its au-2 
thor, I might be tempted to say that in point of diction it ap-; 
proached very neai ly to what I conceived to be the true style of] 
comedy — ^oca tion infra soccum, seria nontuque cotburnum. ' 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. if J 

At the time when this play came out, the demands of the 
stage for novelty were much limited, and of course the excluded 
many had full leisure to ■wreak their malice on the selected few. 
I was silly enough to be in earnest and make serious appeals 
against cavillers and slanderers below notice : this induced my 
friend Garrick to call me the man without a skin, and sure 
enough I should have been without a skin, if the newspaper 
beadles could have had their will of me, for I constantly stood 
out against them, and would never ask quarter. I have been 
long since convinced of my folly, but I am not at all ashamed 
of my principle, for I always made common cause with my con- 
temporaries, and never separated my own particular interests 
from those of literature in general, as will in part appear by the 
following paragraph, extracted fi-om the advertisement, which 
I prefixed to this comedy on its publication — " Whether the 
reception of this comedy," I therein say, " may be such as 
shall encourage me to future efforts is of small consequence 
to the public, but if it should chance to obtain some little 
credit with the candid part of mankind, and its author for 
once escape without those personal and unworthy aspersions, 
which writers, who hide their own names, fling on them, 
Vv'ho publish their's, my success, it m.ay be hoped, will di-aw* 
forth others to the undertaking with far superior requisites ; 
and that there are numbers under this description, whose 
sensibility keeps them silent, I am well persuaded, when I 
consider how general it is for men of the finest parts to be 
Subject to the finest feelings ; and I would submit whether 
this unhandsome practice of abuse is not calculated to create 
in the minds of men of genius not only a disinclination ta 
engage in dramatic compositions, but a languid and unani- 
mated manner of executing them, &c. &c. — " 
The remark is just, but I remember Lord Mansfield on a. 
certain occasion said to me, that if a single syllable from hia 
pen could at once confute an anonymous defamer, he would 
not gratify him with the word. This might be a very becom- 
ing rule for him to follow, and yet it might by no means apply 
to a man of my humble sort, and in truth there was a filthy 
nest of vipers at that time in league against every name, to 
which any degree of celebrity was attached, and they kept their 
hold upon the papers till certain of their leaders were compel- 
led to Hy their country, some to save their ears and some to 
save their necks. They weie well known, and I am sorry to 
say some men, whose minds should have been superior to any 
terrors they could hold out, made suit to them for favour, nay 
even combined with them on some occasions, and were mean 
enough to enroll themselves under their despicable banners. 
It is to the honour of the present time, and infinitely to the re- 
pose pf the present writers for the stage, that all thesfi dirty do- 
N 



i46 MEMOIRS OF 

ings arc completely done away, and an jera of candour and hu- 
man kindness has succeeded to one, that was scandalously its 
opposite. 

At this time I did not know Oliver Goldsmith even by per- 
son ; I think our first meeting chanced to be at the British 
CofFee-House ; when we came together, we very speedily co- 
alesced, and I believe he forgave me for all the little fame I had 
got by the success of my West-Indian, ^^'hich had put him to 
some trouble, for it was not his nature to be unkind, and I had 
Koon an opportunity of convincing him how incapable I was of 
harbouring resentment, and how zealously I took my share in 
what concerned his interest and reputation. That he was fan- 
tastically and whimsically vain all the world knov/s, but there 
was no settled and inherent malice in his heart. He was tena- 
cious to a ridiculous extreme of certain pretensions, that did 
not, and by nature could not, belong to him, and at the same 
time inexcusably careless of the fame, which he had powers to 
command. His table-talk was, as Garrick aptly compared it, 
like that of a parrot, whilst he wrote like Apollo ; he had 
gleains of eloquence, and at times a majesty of thought, but in 
general his tongue and his pen had two very different styles of 
talking. What foibles he had he took no pains to conceal, the 
good qualities of his heart were too frequently obscured by the 
carelessness of his conduct, and the frivolity of his manners. 
Sir Joshua Reynolds was very good to h.im, and would have 
drilled him into better trim and order for society, if he would 
have been amenable, for Reynolds was a perfect gentleman, 
had good sense, great propriety with all the social attributes, 
and all the graces of hospitality, equal to any man. He well 
knew how to appreciate men of talents, and how near a kin 
the Muse of poetry was to that art, of which he was so emi- 
nent a master. From Goldsmith he caught the subject of his 
famous Ugolino ; what aids he got from others, if he got any, 
were worthily bestowed and happily applied. 

There is something in Goldsmith's prose, that to my ear is 
uncommonly sweet and harmonious ; it is clear, .simple, easy 
to be understood ; we never want to read his period twice 
over, except for the pleasure it bestows ; obscurity never calls 
us back to a repetition of it. That he was a poet there is no 
doubt, but the paucity of his verses does not allow us to rank 
him in that high station, where his genius might have carried 
him. There must be bulk, variety and grandeur of design to 
constitute a first-rate poet. The Deserted Village, Traveller 
and Hermit are all specimens beautiful as such, but they are 
only birds' eggs on a string, and eggs of small birds too. One 
great magnificent av/jole must be accomplished before we can 
pronounce upon the 7?ia/cer to be the » Troty.ryi;. Pope himself 
never earned this title by a work of any magnitude but his Ho- 
mer, and that being a translation only constitutes him an ac- 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 147 

complishcd Tcrsinci-. Distress drove Goldsmitli upon under- 
takings, neither congenial with his studies, nor worthy of his 
talents. I remember Ifim, when in his chamber in the Tem- 
ple, he shewed me the beginning of his Animated Nature ; it 
was with a sigh, such as genius draws, when hard necessity di- 
verts it from its bent to drudge for bread, and talk of birds and 
beasts and creeping things, which Pidcock's show-man would 
have done as well. Poor fellow, he hardly knew an ass from a 
mule, nor a turkey from a goose, but when he saw it on the 
table. But publishers hate poetry, and Paternoster-Row is not 
Parnassus. E\en the mighty Doctor Hill, who was not a very- 
delicate feeder, could not make a dinner out of the press till by 
a happy transformation into Hannah Glass he turned himself 
into a cook, and sold receipts for made dishes to all the savoury 
readers in the kingdom. Then indeed the press acknowledged 
him second in fame only to John Bunyan ; his feasts kept pace 
in sale with Nelson's fasts, and when his own name was fairly 
written out of credit, he wrote himself into immortality under 
an alias. Now though necessity, or I should rather say the di- 
sire of finding money for a masquerade, drove Oliver Gold- 
smith upon abridging histories and turning BufFon into Eng- 
lish, yet I much doubt if without that spur he would ever have 
put his Pegasus into action ; no, if he had been rich, the world 
would have been poorer than it is by the loss of all the treas- 
ures of his genius and the contributions of his pen. 

Who will say that Johnson himself would have been such a 
champion in literature, such a front-rank soldier in the fields of 
fame, if he had not been pressed into the service, and driven on 
to glory with the bayonet of sharp necessity pointed at his 
back? If fortune had turned him into a field of clover, he 
would have laid down and rolled in it. The mere manual la- 
bour of writing would not have allowed his lassitude and love 
of ease to have taken the pen out of the inkhorn, unless the 
cravings of hunger had reminded him that he must fill the sheet 
before he saw the table cloth.'* He might indeed have knocked 
down Obbourne for a blockhead, but he v.^ould not have knock- 
ed him down with a folio of his own writing. He would per- 
Iiaps have been the dictator of a club, and wherever he sate 
down to convfisation, there must have been that splash of 
strong bold thought about him., that we might still have had a 
collectanea after his death ; but of prose I guess not much, of 
works of labour none, of fancy perhaps something more, espe- 
cially of poetry, which under favour I conceive was not his 
tower of strength. I think we should have had his Rasselas at 
all events, for he was likely enough to have written at Voltaire, 
and brought the question to the test, if infidelity is any aid to 
wit. An orator he must have been ; not improbably a parlia- 
mentarian, and, if such, certainly an oppositionist, for he pre- 
ferred to talk against the tide. He would indubitably have 



148 MEMOIRS OF 

been no member of the Whig Chib, no partisan of Wilkes, no 
friend of Hume, no believer in Macpherson ; he would have 
put up prayers for early rising, and laid in bed all day, and 
with the most active resolutions possible been the most indolent 
mortal living. He was a good man by nature, a great man by 
genius, we are now to enquire what he was by compulsion. 

Johnson's first style was naturally energetic, his middle style 
was turgid to a fault, his latter style was softened down and 
harmonized into periods, m.ore tuneful and more intelligible. 
His execution was i-apid, yet his mind was not easily provoked 
into exertion ; the variety we find in his writings was not the 
variety of choice arising from the im.pulse of his proper genius, 
but tasks im.posed upon him by the dealers in ink, and con- 
tracts on his part submitted to in satisfaction of the pressing 
calls of hungry want ; for, painful as it is to relate, I have 
heard that illustrious scholar assert (and he never varied from 
the truth of fact) that he subsisted himself for a considerable 
space of time upon the scanty pittance of four-pence half-pen- 
ny per day. How melancholy to reflect that his vast trunk and 
stimulating appetite were to be supported by what will barely 
feed the weaned infant ! Less, much less, than Master Betty 
has earned in one night, would have cheered the mighty mind, 
and maintained the athletic body of Samuel Johnson in com- 
fort and abundance for a twelvemonth. Alas ! I am not fit to 
paint his character ; nor is there need of it ; Etiam mortuus 
loquitur : every man who can buy a book, has bought a Bos- 
nvell ; Johnson is known to all the reading world. I also knew 
him well, respected him highly, loved him sincerely : it was 
never my chance to see him in those moments of moroseness 
and ill humour, which are imputed to him, perhaps with 
truth, for who would slander him ? But I am not warranted 
by any experience of those humours to speak of him otherwise 
than of a friend, who always met me with kindness, and from 
whom I never separated without regret. When I sought his 
company he had no capricious excuses for withholding it, but 
lent himself to every invitation with cordiality, and brought 
good humour with him, that gave life to the circle he was in. 
He presented himself always in his fashion of apparel ; a brov\m 
coat with metal buttons, l)lack waistcoat and worsted stock- 
ings, with a flowing bob wig was the style of his v/ardrobe, 
but they were in perfectly good trim, and with the ladies, 
which he generally met, he had nothing of the slovenly phi- 
losopher about him ; he fed heartily, but not voraciously, and 
was extremely courteous in his commendations of any dish, 
that pleased his palate ; he suffered his next neighbour to 
squeeze the China oranges into his wine glass after dinner, 
which else perchance had gone aside, and trickled into his 
shoes, for the good man had neither straight sight nor steady 
nerves. 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 149 

At the tea table he had considerable demands upon his fa- 
vourite beverage, and I remember when Sir Joshua Reynolds 
at my house reminded him that he had drank eleven cups, he 
replied — " Sir, I did not count your glasses of wine, why 
" should you number up my cups of tea ?" And then laugh- 
ing in perfect good humour he added — " Sir, I should have 
" released the lady from any further trouble, if it had not 
" been for your remark ; but you have reminded me that I 
" want one of the dozen, and I must request Mrs. Cumber- 
*' land to round up my number — " When he saw the readiness 
and complacency, with which my wife obeyed his call, he turn- 
ed a kind and cheerful look upon her and said — " Madam, I 
** must tell you for your comfort, you have escaped much bet- 
" ter than a'certain lady did awhile ago, upon whose patience 
" I intruded greatly more than I have done on yours ; but the 
** lady asked me for no other purpose but to make a Zany of 
*' me, and set me gabbling to a parcel of people I knew noth- 
" ing of ; so, madam, I had my revenge of her ; for I swal- 
" lowed five and twenty cups of her tea, and did not treat her 
" with as many words — " I can only say my wife would have 
made tea for him as long as the New River could have supplied 
her with water. 

It was on such occasions he was to be seen in his happiest 
moments, when animated by the cheering attention of friends 
whom he liked, he would give full scope to those talents for 
narration, in which I verily tliink he was unrivalled both in the 
brilliancy of his wit, the flow of his humour and the energy of 
his language. Anecdotes of times past,_ scenes of his own 
life, and characters of humourists, enthusiasts, crack-brained 
projectors and a variety of strange beings, that he had chanced 
up<an, when detailed by him at length, and garnished with 
those episodical I'emarks, sometimes comic, sometimes grave, 
which he would throw in with infinite fertility of fancy, were 
a treat, which though not always to be purchased by five and 
twenty cups of tea, I have often had the happiness to enjoy 
for less than half the number. He was easily led into topics ; 
it was not easy to turn him from them ; but who would wish 
it ? If a man wanted to shew himself off by getting up and 
riding upon him, he was sure to run restive and kick him off: 
you might as safely have backed Bucephalus, before Alexander 
had lunged him. Neither did he always like to be over-fond- 
led ; when a certain gentleman out-acted his part in this way, 
he is said to have demanded of him — " What provokes your 
« risibility. Sir ? Have I said any thing that you understand ? 
*' — Then I ask pardon of the rest of the company — " But 
this is Henderson's anecdote of him, and I won't swear he did 
not make it himself. The following apology however I myself 
drew from him, when speaking of his tour I observed to him 
upon some passages as rather too sharp upon a country and 
N 2 



150. MEMOIRS OF 

people, who had entertained him so handsomely — " Do you 
«« think so, Cumbey ?" he replied. " Then I give you leave 
" to say, and you may quote me for it, that there are more 
** gentlemen in Scotland than there are shoes. — " 

But I don't relish these sayings, and I am to blame for re- 
tailing them ; we can no more judge of men by these droppings 
from their lips, than we can guess at the contents of the river 
Nile by a pitcher of its water. If we were to estimate the 
wise men of Greece by Laertius's scraps of their sayings, what 
a parcel of old women should we account them to have been ! 

The expanse of matter, which Johnson had found room for 
in his intellectual storehouse, the correctness with which he had 
assorted it, and the readiness with which he could turn to any 
article that he wanted to make present use of, were the prop- 
erties in him, which I contemplated with the most admiration. 
Some have called him a savage ; they were only so far right in 
the resemblance, as that, like the savage, he never came into 
suspicious company without his spear in his hand and his bow 
and quiver at his back. In quickness of intellect few ever 
equalled him, in profundity of erudition many have surpassed 
him. I do not think he had a pure and classical taste, nor was 
apt to be best pleased with the best authors, but as a general 
scholar he ranks very high. When I would have consulted 
him upon certain points of literature, whilst I was making my 
collections from the Greek dramatists for my essays in The 
Observer, he candidly acknowledged that his studies had not 
lain amongst them, and certain it is there is very little show of 
literature in his Ramblers, and in the passage, where he quotes 
Aristotle, he has not correctly given the meaning of the origin- 
al. But this was merely the result of haste and inattention, 
neither is he so to be measured, for he had so many parts jwd 
properties of scholarship about him, that you can only fairly 
reviev/ him as a man of -general knowledge. As a poet his 
translations of Juvenal gave him a name in the world, and gain- 
ed him the applause of Pope. He was a writer of tragedy, but 
his Irene gives him no conspicuous rank in that department. 
As an essayist he merits more consideration ; his Ramblers are 
in every body's hands ; about them opinions vary, and I rather 
believe the style of these essays is not now considered as a good 
model ; this he corrected in his moi-e advanced age, as may be 
seen in his lives of the Poets, where his diction, though occa- 
sionally elaborate and highly metaphorical, is not nearly so in- 
flated and ponderous, as in the Ramblers. He was an acute 
and able critic ; the enthusiastic admirers of Milton and the 
friends of Gray will have something to complain of, but criti- 
cism is a task, which no man executes to all men's satisfaction. 
His selection of a certain passage in the Mourning Bride of 
Congreve, which he extols so rapturously, is certainly a most 
unfortunate sample ; but unless the oversights of a critic are 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. lol 

less pardonable than those of other men, we inay pass this 
over in a work of merit, wh.ich abounds in beauties far more 
prominent than its defects, andm\ich more pleasing to contem- 
plate. In works profi*scdly of fancy he is not very copious ; 
yet in his Rasselas we have much to admire, and enough to 
make us wish for more. It is the work of an illuminated mind, 
and offers many v/ise and deep reflections, clothed in beautiful 
and harmonious diction. We are not indeed familiar with 
such personages as Johnson has imagined for the characters of 
his fable, but if we arc not exceedingly interested in their story, 
we are infinitely gratified with their conversation and remarks. 
In conclusion, Johnson's ssra was not wanting in men to be 
distinguished for their talents, yet if one was to be selected out 
as the first great literary character of the time, I believe all 
voices would concur in naming him. Let me here insert the 
following lines, descriptive of his character, though not long 
since written by me and to be found in a public print 

" On Samuel jfohnson. 

" Herculean strength and a Stentorianvoicc, 

" Of wit a fund, of words a countless choice -: 

•' In learning rather various than profound, 

" In truth intrepid, in religion sound : 

" A trenibHng form and a distorted sight, 

" But firm in judgment and in genius bright ; 

" In controversy seldom known to spare, 

" But humble as the Publican in prayer ; 

*' To more, than merited his kindness, kind, 

" And, though in manners har^h, of friendly mind ; 

" Deep ting'd with melancholy's blackect shade, 

" And, though prepai-'d to die, of death afraid — 

" Such Johnson was ; of him with justice vain, 

" When will this nation see his like again ?" 

Oliver Goldsmith began at this time to write for the stage, 
and it is to be lamented that he did not begin at an earlier peri- 
od of life to turn his genius to dramatic compositions, and 
much more to be lamented, that, after he had begun, the suc- 
ceeding period of his life was so soon cut off. There is no 
doubt but his genius, v\'hen more familiarised to the business, 
would have inspired him to accomplish great things. His first 
comedy of The Good-natured Mun was read and applauded in 
its manuscript by Edmund Burke, and the circle in which he 
then lived and moved : under such patronage it came with those 
testimonials to the director of Covent Garden theatre, as could 
not fail to open all the avenues to the stage, and bespeak all 
the favour and attention from the performers and the public, 
that the applauding voice of him, whose applause was fame it- 
self, could give it. This comedy has enough to justify the 



1.52 MEMOIRS OF 

good opinion of its literary patron, and secure its author 
against any loss of reputation, for it has the stamp of a man of 
talents upon it, though its popularity with the audience did 
not quite keep pace with the expectations, that were grounded 
on the fiat it had antecedently been honoured with. It was a 
first effort however, and did not discourage its ingenious author 
from invoking his Muse a second time. It was now, whilst his 
labours were in projection, that I first met him at the British 
Coflee-House, as I have already related somewhat out of place. 
He dined with us as a visitor, introduced as I think by sir 
Joshua Reynolds, and we held a consultation upon the naming 
of his comedy, which some of the company had read, and which 
he detailed to the rest after his manner with a great deal of good 
humour. Somebody suggested — She Stoops to Cotiquer — and 
that title was agreed upon. AVhen I perceived an embarrass- 
ment in his manner towards me, which I could readily account 
for, I lost no time to put him at his ease, and I flatter myself I 
was successful. As my heart was ever warm towards my con- 
temporaries, I did not countci-feit, but really felt a cordial in- 
terest in his behalf, and I had soon the pleasure to perceive 
that he credited me for my sincerity — " You and I," said he, 
" have very different motives for resorting to the stage. 1 
*' v/rite for money, and care little about fame — ." I was 
touched by this melancholy confession, and from that moment 
busied myself assiduously amongst all my connexions in his 
cause. The whole company pledged themselves to the sup- 
port pf the ingenuous poet, and faithfully kept their promise to 
him. In tact he needed all that could be done for him, as Mr. 
Colman, then manager of Covent Garden theatre, protested 
against the comedy, when as yet he had not struck upon a 
name for it. Johnson at length stood forth in all his terrors 
as champion for the piece, and backed by us his clients and re- 
tainers demanded a fair trial. Colman again protested, but, 
with that salvo for his own reputation, liberally lent his stage to 
one of the most eccentric productions, that ever found its way 
to it, and She Stoops to Conquer was put into rehearsal. 

We were not over-sanguine of success, but perfectly deter- 
mined to struggle hard for our author : we accordingly as- 
sembled our strength at the Shakspeare Tavern in a considera- 
ble body for an early dinner, where Samuel Johnson took the 
chair at the head of a long table, and was the life and soul of 
the corps : the poet took post silently by his side with the 
Burkes, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Fitzherbert, Caleb Whitefoord 
and a phalanx of North-British pre-determined applauders, ' 
under the banner of Major Mills, all good men and true. Our 
illustrious president was in inimitable glee, and poor Gold- 
smith that day took all his raillery as patiently and compla- 
cently as my fi-iend Boswell would have done any day, or every 
day of his life. In the mean time we did not forget our duty, • 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 153 

and thougii we had a better comedy going, in which Johnson 
was chief actor, we betook ourselves in good time to our sepa- 
rate and allotted posts, »nd waited the awful drawing up of the 
curtain. As our stations were pre-concerted, so were our sig- 
nals for plaudits arranged and determined upon in a manner, 
that gave every one his cue where to look for them, and how 
to follow them up. 

We had amongst us a very worthy and efficient member, 
long since lost to his friends and the world at large, Adam 
Drummond, of amiable niemory, who was gifted by nature with 
the most sonorous, and at the same time the most contagious, 
laugh, that ever echoed from the human lungs. The neighing 
of the horse of the son of Hystaspes was a %vhisper to it ; the 
whole thunder of th.e tlieatre could not drown it. This kind 
and ingenuous friend fairly fore -warned us that he knew no 
more wlien to give his fire than the cannon did that was plant- 
ed on a battery. lie desired therefore to have a flapper at liis 
elbow, and I had the honour to be deputed to that office. I 
planted him in an upper box, pretty nearly over the stage, in 
full view of the pit and galleries, and perfectly well situated to 
give the echo all its play through the hollows and recesses of 
the theatre. The success of our manoeuvres was complete. 
All eyes were upon Johnson, who sate in a front row of a side 
box, and when he laughed every body thought themselves war- 
ranted to roar. In the mean time my fi-iend followed signals 
with a rattle so irresistibly comic, that, when he had repeated 
it several times, the attention of the spectators was so engross- 
ed by his person and performances, that the progress of the 
play seem.ed likely to become a secondary object, and I found 
it prudent to insinuate to him that he might halt his music 
without any prejudice to the author ; but alas, it was now too 
late to rein him in ; he had laughed upon my signal where he 
found no joke, and nov/ unluckily he fancied that he found a 
joke in almost every thing that was said ; so that nothing in 
nature could be more mal-a-pro-pos than some of his bursts 
every now and then, were. These were dangerous moments, 
for the pit began to take umbrage ; but we earned our play 
through, and triumphed not only over Colman's judgment, but 
our own. 

As the life of poor Oliver Goldsmith v/as now fast approach- 
ing to its period, I conclude my account of him with gratitude 
for the epitaph he bestowed on me in his poem called RetolUi- 
tion. It was upon a proposal started by Edmund Burke, that 
a party of friends who had dined together at Sir Joshua Reyn- 
olds's and my house, should meet at the St. James's Coffee- 
House, which accordingly took place, and was occasionally 
repeated v,'ith much festivity and good fellovv-ship. Dr. Bernard, 
Dean of Derry, a very amiable and old friend of mine. Dr. 
Douglas, since Bishop of Salisbury, Johnson, David Garrick, 



1.54 MEMOIRS OF 

sir Joshua Reynolds, Oliver Goldbmith, Edmund and Richard 
Biu-ke, Hickey, with two or three others constituted our par- 
ty. At one of these meetings an idea was suggested of extem- 
porary epitaphs upon the parties present ; pen and ink were 
called for, and Garrick off hand wrote an epitaph with a good 
deal of humour upon poor Goldsmith, who was the first in 
jest, as he proved to be in reality, that we committed to the 
"grave. The dean also gave him an epitaph, and sir Joshua il- 
luminated the dean's verses with a sketch of his bust in pen 
and ink, inimitably caricatured. Neither Johnson, nor Bm-ke 
wrote any thing, and when I perceived Oliver was rather sore, 
and seemed to watch me v-ith that kind of attention, which 
indicated his expectation of something in the same kind of bur- 
lesque with their's, I thought it time to press the joke no fur- 
tlier, and wrote a few couplets at a side-table, whicli when 1 
had finished and was called upon by the company to exhibit. 
Goldsmith with much agitation besought me to spare liim, and 
I was about to tear them, when Johnson wrested them out of 
iny hand, and in a loud voice read them at the table. J have 
now lost all recollection of them, and in fact they were little 
ivorth remembering, but as they were serious and complimen- 
tary, the effect they had upon Goldsmith was the more pleas- 
ing for being so entirely unexpected. The concluding line, 
which is the only one I can call to mind, was — 

" All moum the poet, I lament the man — ." 

This I recollect, because he repeated it several times, and 
seemed much gratified by it. At our next meeting he produ- 
ced his epitaphs as they stand in the little posthumous poem 
above-mentioned, and this was the last time he ever enjoyed 
the company of his friends. 

As he had served up the company under the similitude of 
various sorts of meat, I had in the mean time figured them un- 
der that of liquors, v/hich little poem I rather think was print- 
ed, but of this I am not sure. Goldsmith sickened and died, 
and vi'e had one concluding meeting at my house, when it was 
decided to publish his Retaliation, and Johnson at the .same 
time undertook to winte an epitaph for our lamented friend, to 
whom v.^e proposed to erect a monument by subscription in 
Westminster-Abbey. This epitaph Johnson executed ; but in 
the criticism, that was attempted against it, and in the Round- 
Robin signed at Mr, Beauclerc's house I had no part. I had 
no acquaintance with that gentleman, and was never in his 
house in my life. 

Thus died Oliver Goldsmith in his cham.bers in the Temple 
at a period of life, when his genius was yet in its vigour, and 
fortune seemed disposed to smile upon him. I have heard 
Dr. Johnson relate with infinite humour the circumstance of 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 155 

^is rescuing him from a ridiculous dilemma by the purchase- 
money of his Vicar of Wakefield, which he sold on his behalf 
to Dodsley, and, as I^hink, for the sum of ten pounds only. 
He had run up a debt with his landlady for board and lodging 
of some few pounds, and was at his wit's-end how to wipe off 
the score and keep a roof oj^r his head, except by closing wich 
a very staggering proposal on her part, and taking his creditor 
to wife, whose charms were very f:ir front alluring, whilst her 
demands were extremely urgent. In this crisis of his fate he 
was found by Johnson in the act of meditating on the melan- 
choly alternative before him. He shewed Johnson his manu- 
script of The Vicar of Wakefield, but seemed to be without 
any plan, or even hope, of raising money upon the disposal of 
it ; when Johnson cast his eye upon it, he discovered some- 
thing that gave him hope, and immediately took it to Dodsley, 
who paid down the price above-mentioned in ready-money, 
and added an eventual condition upon its future sale. John- 
son described the precautions he took in concealing the amount 
of the sum he had in hand, which he prudently administered 
to him by a guinea at a time. In the event he paid off the 
landlady's score, and redeemed the person of his friend from 
her embraces. Goldsmith had the joy of finding his ingenious 
work succeed beyond his hopes, and fi'om that time began to 
place a confidence in the resoiuxes of his talents, which thence- 
forward enjibled him to keep his station in society, and culti- 
vate the friendship. of many eminent persons, who, whilst they 
smiled at his eccentricities, esteemed him for his genius and 
good qualities. 

My father had been translated to the see of Kilmore, which 
placed him in a more civilized country, and lodged him in a 
more comfortable house. I continued my yearly visits, and 
again v»'ent over to Ireland with part of my family, and passed 
my whole summer recess at Kilmore. I had with unspeakable 
regret perceived some symptoms of an alarming nature about 
him, which seemed to indicate the breaking up of a most ex- 
cellent constitution, which, nursed by temperance and regular- 
ity, had hitherto been blest with such an uninterrupted course 
of health, that he had never through his whole life been con- 
fined a single day to his bed, except when he had the small pox 
in his childhood. In all his appetites and passions he was the 
most moderate of men : ever cheerful in his family and with 
his friends, but never yielding to the slightest excess. My 
mother in the mean time had been gradually sinking into a 
state of extreme debility and loss of health, and I plainly sa\T 
that my father's ceaseless agitation and anxiety on her account 
had deeply affected his constitution. He had flattered me with 
the hope that he would attempt a journey to England with 
her, and in that expectation, when my time 'was expired, I 
painfully took leave of him — aad, alas ! never saw him, ov mj 
mother, more. 



166 MEMOIRS OP 

In the winter of that sanae year, -whilst I was at Bath by ad- 
vice for my own health, I received the first afflicting intelli- 
gence of his death from Primate Robinson, who loved him tru- 
ly and lamented him most sincerely. This sad event was speed- 
ily succeeded by the death of my mother, whose weak and ex- 
hausted frame sunk under the blow : those senses so acute, 
and that mind so richly endowed, were in an instant taken 
from her, and after languishing in that melancholy state for a 
short but distressful period, she followed him to the grave. 

Thus was I bereft of father and mother without the conso- 
lation of having paid them the last mournful duties of a son- 
One surviving sister, the best and most benevolent of human 
beings, attended them in their last moments, and performed 
those duties, which my hard fortune would not sulTer me to 
s hare. 

In a small patch of ground, enclosed with stone walls, ad- 
joining to the church-yard of Kilmore, but not within the pale 
of the consecrated ground, my father's corpse was interred be- 
side the grave of the venerable and exemplary Bishop Bedel. 
This little spot, as containing the remains of that good and 
great man, my father had fenced and guarded with particular 
devotion, and he had more than once pointed it out to me as 
his destined grave, saying to me, as I Avell remember, in the 
words of the Old Prophet of Beth-el, " When I am dead, 
then bury me in this sepulchre, wherein the man of God is 
buried; lay my bones beside his bones — ." This injunction 
was exactly fulfilled, and the Protestant Bishop of Kilmore, 
the mild friend of mankind, the impartial benefactor and un- 
prejudiced protector of his Catholic pooi-, who almost adored 
him whilst living, was not permitted to deposit his remains 
within the precincts of his own church-yard, though they howl- 
ed over his grave, and rent the air with their savage lamenta- 
tions. 

Thusjwhilst their carcases monopolisethe consecrated ground, 
his bones and the bones of Bedel make sacred the unblest soil, 
in which they moulder ; but whilst I believe and am persuad- 
ed, that his incorruptible is received into bliss eternal, what 
concerns it me vvhere his corruptible is laid ? The corpse of 
my lamented mother, the instructress of my youth, the friend 
and charm of my maturer years, is deposited by his side. 

My father's patronage at Kilmore was very considerable, and 
this he strictly bestowed upon the clergy of his diocese, pro- 
moting the curates to the smaller livings, as vacancies occir- 
red, and exacting from every man, whom he put into a livinj, 
where there was no parsonage-house, a solemn promise to 
build ; but I am sorry to say that in no single instance v 
that promise fulfilled ; which breach of faith gave him g: 
concern, and i'l the cases of some particular friends, whom i »,' 
ha4 promoted in full persuasion of their keeping faith with Lii.-\. 



raCHARD CUMBERLAND. K'T 

jtuucted him very sensibly, as I had occasion to know and la- 
ment. The opportunities he had of benefiting his fortune and 
Family by fines, and the lapse of leases, which might have been 
considerable, he honourably declined to avail himself of, for 
when he had tendered his renewals upon the most moderate 
tenns, and these had been delayed or rejected in his days of 
health, he peremptorily withstood their offers, when he round 
his life was hastening to its period, esteeming it according to his 
high sense of honour not perfectly fair to his successor to take 
what he called the packing-penny, and sweep clean before his 
departure. He left his see therefore much more valuable than 
he found it by this liberal and disinterested conduct, by which 
it was natural to hope he had secured to his executors the good 
offices and assistance of his successor in recovering the out- 
standing arrears due to his survivors — but in that hope we were 
shamefully disappointed ; neither these airears, nor even his 
legal demands for monies expended on improvements, beneficial 
to the demesne, and regularly certified by his diocesan, could 
be recovered by me for my sister's use, till the Lord Primate 
took the cause in hand, and enforced the sluggish and unwil- 
ling satisfaction from the bishop, who succeeded him. 

Previous to these unhappy events I had written my fourth 
comedy of The Choleric Man., and left it with Mr. Garrick for 
representation. Whilst I was at Bath the rehearsals were go- 
ing on, and the play was brought upon the stage during my 
absence. It succeeded to the utmost of my wishes, but v/hen I 
perceived that the malevolence of the -public prints suffered no 
abatement, and saw myself charged with having vented con- 
temptuous and illiberal speeches in the theati'e, where I could 
not have been, against productions of my contemporaries, 
which I had neither heard nor seen, galled with such false and 
cruel asperbions, which, under the pressure of my recent losses 
and misfortunes, fell on me with accumulated asperity, I was 
induced to retort upon my defamers, and accordingly prefixed 
to the printed copy of my comedy a Dedication to Detraction^ 
in which I observe that " Ill-health and other melancholy at- 
tentions, which I need not explain, kept me at a distance from 
the scene of its decision — ." The chief object of this dedica- 
tion was directed to a certain tract then in some degree of cir- 
culation, entitled Aii Essay on the Theatre, in which the wiiter 
professes to draw a comparison bet-Meen laughing and sentimental 
Comedy, and under the latter description particularly points his 
obsei-vations at The Fashionable Lover. There is no occasion 
for me to speak further of this dedication, as it is attached to 
the comedy, which is yet in print, except to observe tlial I can 
still repeat with truth what I there assert to my imaginary pat- 
ron, that " I can take my conscience to witness I have pa:d 
him no sacrifice, devoted no time or study to his service, aov 
ani a man ia any respect qualified to repay his favours — '' 
O 



i.o3 JNiiviviOIRo 01- 

.f 

Garnck wrote the epilogue to Ihis comedy, as he also did 
that to the West-Indian, and Mrs. Abington spoke it. Thai 
charming actress was now at the height of her fame, and per- 
formed the part of Lastitia in a style, tliat gave great support 
to the representation. The two brothers, formed upon the 
plan of Terrence's Adelphi, were well cast between Mr. King 
and Mr, Aickin, and Western personated Jack Nightshade 
with inimitable humour. The chief effect in this play is pro- 
duced by the strong contrast of character between Manlove 
and the Choleric Man, and again with more comic force be- 
tween Charles the courtly gentleman and Jack the rustic booby, 
who at the first meeting with his brother exclaims — *♦ Who 
wou'd think you and I were whelps of the same breed .' Yen 
are as sleek as my lady's lap-dog, I am rough as a water-span- 
iel, be-daggled and be-mired, as if I had come out of the fens 
with wild fowl ; why, I have brought oif as much soil upon 
my boots only as wou'd set up a Norfolk farmer — ." 

It was observed of this comedy that the spirit of the two first 
acts was not kept up through the concluding three, and the 
general sense of the public was said to confirm this remark, 
therefore I presimie it is true. It was a successful play in its 
time, though it has not been so often before the public as any 
of the three, which preceded it, and since Weston's decease it 
has been consigned to the sheif. If ever there shall be found 
an editor of my dramatic works as an entire collection, this 
comedy will stand forward as one of the m.ost prominent 
amongst them. The plot indeed is not original, but the char- 
acters are huu'iorously contrasted, and there is point and spirit 
in the dialogue. Such as it is, it was the fourth produced in 
.four succeeding seasons, and if I acquired any small share of 
credit by those, which preceded it, I did not forfeit it by the 
publication of this. To this comedy I appositely affixed the 
following motto from Plautus — 

yam iitisc h/sijiiefitia est 
Sic irc.m ]u -prGmptugcrere. 

In the autumn of this year I made a tour in company wit!', 
rny friend tlie Earl of Warvvick to the Lakes in Cumberland. 
He took with him Mr. Smith, well known to the public for his 
elegant designs after nature in Switzerland, Italy, and else- 
where : my noble friend him.self is a master in the art of draw- 
ing and designing landscapes in a bold and striking character, 
of which our tova- afibrded a vast variety. Whilst we passed a 
few days at Keswick, I hastily composed an irregular ode, 
" which was literally struck out on the spot, and is addressed 
to the Sun ; tor as'the season was advancing towards winter, 
we had frequent temptations to invoke that luminary, who 
was rever very gracious to our suit, except whilst we were 
vit'Wing the lake of Keswick and its accompanimeius." 



^■:OHARD CUMBERLAND. 1^9 

With liiiu 1.I-. oc.-i.tion my ode commences 

" Soul ol'the world, refulgent Sun, 
" Oh, take mat from my ravish'd sight 
" Those golc'-^n beams of living light, 
" Nor, ere t"hy daily course be run 

" Precipitate the night. 
" Lo, where the ruffian clouds arise, 
" U.^urp the abdicated skies, 
" And seize th' astherial throne : 
" Sullen sad the scene appears, 
" Huge Hil'vdlyti streams with tears ; 
" Hark ! 'tis giant Skiddaiv's groan ; 
" I hear terrific La-xudoor roar : 
" The sabbath of thy reign is o'er, 
" The anarchy's begun. 
'' Father of light, return ; break forth, refulgent Sun !" 
&c. Sec. 
This Ode, with one addressed to Doctor James, was pub- 
lished and sold by Mr. Robson in New Bond-street in the year 
177(5, and is I believe to be found in the Tour to the Lakes. 
The Ode to Doctor Robert James was suggested by the re- 
covery of my. second son from a dangerous fever, efiected un- 
der Providence by his celebrated powders. 1 am tenipted to 
insert the following short extract, descriptive of the person of 

'Death 

" On his pale steed erect the monarch stands, 
" His dirk and javelin glittering in his hands : 
** This from a distance deals th' ignoble blov\-, 
** And that dispatches the resisting foe : 
" Whilst all beneath him, as he flies, 
" Dire are the tossings, deep the cries, 
" The landscace darkens and the season dies — ." 

* " &C.&C. 

These Odes I addressed to Mr. George Roraney, tlien lately 
TL'turneil from pursuing his studies at Rome. 

The next piece that T pre;;ented to the stage imder the man- 
ment of Mr. Garrick vras Timo;i of Athens, altered from 
Shakspeare, to which I prefixed the following Advertisement, 
when it was published by Becket — 

" 1 wish I could have brought this play upon the stage with 

J violence to its author, and not so much responsibility on 
my own part. New characters of necessity require some dis- 
play. Many original passages of the first merit are still retain- 
ed, and in the contemplation of them my errors I hope will be 
overlooked or forgiven. In examining the brilliancy of a dia- 
mond few people thro^v away any remarks upon the dulness of 
the foil — ." Barry played, the part of Timon, and Mrs. Bairy 
th;it .'f Evanthe, which was engrafted on the original for the 

rpose of writing up the character of Alcibiades, in which a 



160 MEMOIRS Ol* 

young actor of the name of Crofts made his Rrst appearance 
on the stage. As the entire part of Evanthe, and with very- 
few exceptions the whole of Alcibiades are new, the author of 
this alteration has much to answer for, and much it behoved 
him to make his new matter harmonize with the old ; with 
what degree of success this is done it scarce becom.es me to 
say ; the public approbation seemed to sanction the attempt at 
the first production of the play, the neglect, with which the 
stage has passed it over since, disposes us to draw conclusions 
less in favour of its merit. 

As few, who read these miemoirs, have ever met, or prob."- 
bly ever will meet witli this altered play, which is now out of 
print, I trust that such at least will forgive me if I extract a 
short specimen from my own new matter in the second act — 

" Act 2. Scene 3. 

*' Luciillus and Lucius. 

Lucul. — " How now, my Lord ; in private ? 
Luc. — " Yes, I thought so, 

" Till an unwelcome intermeddling Lord 
" Stept in and ask'd the question. 

Lucul. — " What, in anger ! 

" By heav'ns I'll gall him ! for he stands before me. 

" In the broad sunshine of Lord Timon's bounty, 

" And throws my better merits into shade. ^ Aside, 

I.uc. — '* Now would I kill him if I durst. [Aside: 

Lucid.—" Methinks 

«' You look but coldly. What has cross'd your suit ? 
*' Alas, poor Lucius ! but I read your fate 
" In that unkind-one's frown. 

?,?/f.— *' No doubt, my Lord, 

'< You, that receive them ever, are well vers'd 

" In the unkind-one's frowns : as the clear stream 

" Reflects your person, so may you espy 

" In the sure mirror of her scornful brow 

'* The clouded picture of your own despair. 

Lucid. — " Come, you presume too far ; talk not thus idly 
" To rae, who know you. 

Luc. — " Know me ? 

Lucul. — " Aye, who know you. 

" For one, that courses up and down on errands, 

" A stale retainer at Lord Timon's table ; 

<* A man grown great by making legs and cringes, 

" By winding round a wanton spendthrift's heart, 

" And gulling him at pleasure — Now do I know you ? 

Luc. — " Gods, must I bear this ? bear it from Lucullus ? 

«■ 1, who first brought thee to Lord TuBon's stinaii)," 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. Jt'l 

<• Set thee in sight and breath'd into thine car 

" The breath of hope ? Whathadst thou been, ingrateful, 

" But that I took up Jove's imperfect work, 

" Gave thee a sftape and made thee into man ? 

" Alcibiades to them. 

Ak'ib. — " What, wrangHng, Lords, like hungry curs for crusts I 
" Away with this unmanly war of words ! 
" Pluck forth^your shining rapiers from their shells, 
" And level boldly at each other's hearts. 
" Hearts did I say ? Your hearts are gone from home, 
" And hid in Timon's coffers — Fie upon it ! 
L.'ic. — " My Lord Lucullus, I shall iind a time. 
yl/cio. — " Hah ! find a time 1 the brave make time and place. 
" Gods, gods, what things are men ! you'll find a time ? 
" A time for what ? — To murder him in 's sleep ? 
" The man, who wrongs me, at the altar's foot 
" I'll seize, yea, drag him from the siieltering cegis 
" Of stern Minerva. 
Luc. — " Aye ; 'tis your profession, 

jilcii. — " Down on your knees and thank the gods for thai , 
'< Or woe for Athens, were it left to such 
" As you are to defend. Do ye not hate 
" Each other heartily ? Yet neither dares 
" To bear his trembling falchion to the sun. 
" Fmw tame they dangle on yourcovrard thighs ! 
Lucid. — " We are no soldiers. Sir. 
■Akib. — " No, ye are I-ords : 

" A lazy, proud, unprofitable crew ; 
" The vermin gender'd from the rank cor.-uption 
" Of a luxurious state — No soldiers, say you ? 
* " And wherefore are ye none ? Have ye not life, 
" Friends, honour, freedom, country to defend ? 
" He, that hath these, by nature is a soldier, 
" And, when he wields his sword in their defence, 
" Instinctively fulfils the end he lives for — ." 
&c. (Sec. 
When Moody from the excellence of his acting in the part 
of Major O'Flaherty, became the established performer of Irish 
ciiaracters, I wrote in compliance with his wishes another Hi- 
bernian upon a smaller scale, and composed the entertainment 
of The Note of Hand, or Trip^ to Ns-iumarket, which was the 
last piece of my writing, which Mr. Garrick produced upon 
his stage before he disposed of his property in Drury-lane 
theatre, and withdrew from business. 

During my rc^idence at' Bath I had been greatly pleased with 
the perforn)aiice of the part of Shylock by Mr. Henderson, 
and, upon conversing with him, found that his wishes strongly 

O 2 



ty^ MEivIOIRS OF 

pointed to an engagement, if that could be obtained, at Driirr-- 
lane, then under the direction of Mr. Gamck. When I had 
seen him in different characters, and became confirmed in my 
opinion of his merit, I warmly recommended him to Mr. Gar- 
rick, and was empowered to contract for his engagement upon 
terms, that to my judgment, and that of other intermediate 
friends, appeared to be extremely reasonable. At first I con- 
ceived the negociation as good as concluded, but some reports, 
that rather clashed with mine, rendered Mr. Garrick cool in 
the business, and disposed to consult other opinions as to Mr. 
Henderson's abilities ; and amongst these he seemed greatly to 
depend upon his brother George's judgment, whose report was 
by no means of the same sanguine complexion with mine. 
Poor George had come to Bath in a lamentable state of health, 
and must have seen Henderson v/ith distempered eyes to err so 
egregiously as he did in his account of him. It proved how- 
ever in the upshot decisive against my advice, and after a lan- 
guishing negociation, which got at length into other hands 
than mine, Garrick made the transfer of his property in the 
theatre without the name of Henderson upon the roll of his 
performers. Truth obliges me to say that the negociation in 
all its parts and passages was not creditable to Mr. Garrick, 
and left impressions on the mind of Henderson, that time did 
not speedily wear out. He had wut, infinite pleasantry and in- 
imitable powers of mimickry, which he felt himself privileged 
to employ, and employed only too successfully. The season 
of the winter theatres passed over, and when the Haymai-ket 
house opened, Henderson came from Bath with all the powers 
of his genius on the alert, and upon the summer stage fully 
justified every thing that I and others had said of him through 
the winter, and established himself completely in the public 
favour. A great resort of men of talents now flocked around 
him ; the town considered him as a man injuriously rejected, 
and thoiigh, when they imputed it to envy I am sure they 
were mistaken, yet when Garrick found that by lending his ear 
to foolish opinions, and quibbling about terms, he had missed 
the credit of engaging the best actor of the time, himself ex- 
cepted, it is not to be wondered at if the praise, bestowed on 
Henderson's perform.ances, was not the most agreeable topic, 
that could be chosen for his entertainment. He could not in- 
deed always avoid hearing these applauses, but he did not hold 
himself obliged to second them, and when curiosity drew him 
to the summer theatre to see Henderson in the part of Shylock, 
he said nothing in his dispraise, but he discovered great merit 
in Tubal, which of course had been the cast of some second- 
rate performer. 

Henderson in the mean time was transferred from the Hay- 
market theatre to Drury-lane, under the direction of Mr. Sher- 
idan, where I brought out my tragedy of The Battle of Hast- 



"RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 16^. 

ifijj, in which he played the part of Edgar Atheling, not indeed 
with the happiest ettect, for he did not possess the graces of 
person or deportment, and as that character demanded both, 
an actor might have been found, who with inferior abilities 
would have been a fitter representative of it. As for the play 
itself, it was published and is to be found in more collections 
than one ; its readers will probably be of opinion, that it is 
better written than planned ; a judgment, to which I shall 
most readily submit, not only in this instance but in several 
others. 

About this time died the carl of Halifax. He had filled the 
high stations of First Lord of Trade and Plantations, Lord 
Lieutenant of Leland, Principal Secretary of State, First Lord 
of the Admiralty, Lord Lieutenant of the county of North- 
ampton, and Knight of the Garter. He had no son, and his 
title is extinct. His tine mansion and estate of Stansted, left 
to him by Mr. Lumley, was sold after his decease. I saw him 
in his last illness, when his constitution was an absolute wreck : 
I was subpocna'd to give evidence on this point before the Lord 
Chief Justice Mansfield, and according to my conscience de- 
posed what was my opinion of his hopeless state ; his physi- 
cian sir Noah Thomas, whose professional judgment had just- 
ly more authority and influence than mine, by his deposition 
superseded mine, and the death of his patient very shortly after 
contradicted his. I never knew that man, whose life, if cir- 
cumstantially detailed, would furnish a more striking moral 
and a more tragical catastrophe. Nature endowed him liberal- 
ly with her gifts. Fortune showered her favours profusely up- 
on him. Providence repeatedly held forth the most extraordi- 
nary vouch -safements — What a mournful retro'^pection I I am 
not bound to dwell upon it. I turn from it with horror. 

A brighter scene now meets me, for whilst I was yet a sub- 
altern in the Board of Trade, uncomfortably executing the of- 
fice of clerk of the repoits, by the accession of Lord George 
Gennain to the seals for the colonial d<.'partment I had a new 
principal to look up to. I had never been in a room with him 
in my life, except during his trial at the Horse-Guards for the 
affair of Minden, nvhich I attended through the whole of its 
progress, and regularly reported what occurred to Mr. Dod- 
ington, who was then out of town ; some of his letters I pre- 
served, but of my own, according to custom, I took no cop- 
ies. When Lord George had taken the seals, I asked my> 
friend Colonel James Cunningham to take me with hina to 
Pall-Mall, which he did, and the ceremony of paying my re- 
spects was soon dismissed. I confess I thought my new chief 
was quite as cold in his manner as a minister need be, and rath- 
er more so than my intermediate friend had given me reason to 
expect. I was now living in great intimacy with the Duke 
of Dorset, and asked him to do m,e that grace with his 



1()4 MEMOIRS OF 

uncle, v/hich the honour of being acknowledged by him as his 
friend would naturally have obtained for me. This I am con- 
lident he would readily have done but for reasons, v/hich pre- 
cluded all desire on my part to say another word upon the busi- 
ness. I \^•as therefore left to make my own way with a per- 
fect stranger, whilst I was in actual negociation with Mr. Pow- 
iiall for the secretaryship, and had understood Lord Clare to 
be friendly to our treaty in the very moment, when he ceased 
to be our fii-st lord, and the power of accommodating us in 
our wishes was shifted from his hands into those of Lord 
Geovge. I considered it therefore as an opportunity gone by, 
.'i!id entertained no further hopes of succeeding. A very short 
1 ime sufficed to confirm the idea I had entertained of Lord 
George's character for decision and dispatch in business : there 
was at once an end to all our circumlocutory reports and inef- 
iicient forms, that had only impeded business, and substituted 
ambiguity for precision : there was (as William Gerard Haniil- 
ton, speaking of Lord George, truly observed to me) no trash 
in his mind ; he studied no choice phrases, no superfluous 
words, nor ever sutTered the clearness of his conceptions to be 
clouded by the obscurity of his expressions, for these v^'ere the 
simplest and most unequivocal that could be made use of for 
explaining his opinions, or dictating his instructions. In the 
meanwhile he Avas so momentarily punctual to his time, so re- 
ligiously observant of his engagements, that we, who served 
under him in office, felt the sweets of the exchange we had so 
lately made in the person of our chief. 

I had now no other prospect but that of serving in my sub- 
ordinate situation under an easy master with security and com- 
fort, for as I was not flattered with the show of any notices 
from him but such as I might reasonably expect, I built no 
•hopes upon his favour, nor allowed myself to think I was in 
any train of succeeding in my treaty with our secretary for his 
office ; and as I had reason to believe he was equally happy 
with myself in serving under such a principal, I took for grant- 
ed he would move no further in the business. 

One day, as Lord George was leaving the office, he stopt 
me on the outside of the door, at the head of the stairs, and 
invited me to pass some days with him and his family at Stone- 
land near Tunbridge Wells. It was on my part so unexpect- 
ed, that I doubted if I had rightly understood him, as he had 
spoken in a low and submitted voice, as his manner was, and 
I consulted his confidential secretary Mr. Doyley, whether he 
would advise me to the journey. He told me tliat he knew the 
house was filled from top to bottom with a large party, that 
he was sure there w^ould be no room for me, and dissuaded 
me from the undertaking. I did not quite follow his advice by 
neglecting to present myself, but I resolved to secure my re- 
treat to Tunbridge Wells, and kept my chaise in waiting to 



iUCHARD CUMBERLAND. i.;j» 

make good my quarters. When I arrived at Sloncland I was 
met at the door by Lord George, who soon discovered the pre- 
caution I had taken, amd himself conducting me to my bed- 
chamber, told me it had been reserved for me, and ever after 
would be set apart as mine, where he hoped I would consent 
to find my.-self at home. This war. the man I had esteemed so 
cold, and thus v'as I at once introduced to the commencement 
of a fi-iend<hip, which day by day improved, and which no one 
word or action of his life to come ever for an instant interrupt- 
ed or diminished. 

Shortly after this it came to his knowledge that there had 
been a treaty between Mr. Pownall and me for his resignation 
of the place of Secretary, and he asked me what had passed ; 
I told him how it stood, and what the conditions were, that 
my superior in office expected for the accommodation. I had 
not yet mentioned this to him, and probably never should. 
He said he would take it into his own hand?, and in a few days 
signified the king's pleasure that Mr. Pownall's resignation was 
accepted, and that I should succeed him as Secretary in clear 
and full enjoyment of the place, without any compensation 
whatsoever. Thus was I, beyond all hope and without a 
word said to me, that could lead me to expect a favour of that 
sort, promoted by suiprise to a very advantageous and desira- 
ble situation. I came to my office at the hour appointed, not 
dreaming of such an event, and took my seat at the adjoining 
table, v,'hen, Mr. Pownall being called out of the room, Lord 
George turned round to me and bade me take his chair at the 
bottom of the table, announcing to the Board his majesty's 
commands, as above recited, with a positive prohibition of all 
stipulations. When I had endeavoured to express myself as 
properly on the occasion, as my agitated state of spirits would 
allow of, I remember Lord George made answer, " That if I 
was as well pleased upon receiving his majesty's commands, as 
he was in being the bearer of them, I was indeed very happy." 
— If I served him truly, honestly and ardently ever after, till I 
followed him to the grave, where is my mei'it ? How could I 
do otherwise ? 

The conflict in America was now raging at its height ; that 
was a business out of my office to be concerned in, and I wil^ 
lingly pass it over ; but it was in my way to know the effects 
it had upon the anxious spirit of my friend, and very much it 
was both my wish and my endeavour by every means in my 
capacity to he helpful at those hours, wliich were necessary 
for his relaxation, and take to my share as many of those bur- 
thensome and vexatious concerns, as without intrusion upon 
other people's offices I could relieve him from. All that I 
could I did, and as I was daily with him, and never out of 
call, I reflect with comfort, that there were occaf^ions when 
my zeal was not unprofitably everted for his alleviation and 



166 MEMOIRS OF 

repose. I might say more, for those were trying and unqxi);-t: 
times. It is not a very safe or enviable predicament to b 
marked out for a known attachment to an unpopular character, 
and be continually under arms to turn out and encounter tl.e 
prejudices of mankind. I'here^isa middle kind of way, whicii 
some men can hit otf, between doing all and doing nothing, 
which saves appearances and satiaties easy consciences ; but 
some consciences ai-e not, so easily satisfied. 

i had now four sons at Westminster-school boarding at or; 
house, and my two daughters coming into the Avorld, so tha: 
the accession to my circumstances, which my promotion in c>i- 
fice gave me, put me greatly at my ease, and enabled me to 
press their tducation with advantage. My eldest son Richai d 
went through Westminstt-r with the reputation of an cxcellcjit 
school-i-cholar, and I admitted him of Trinity College, but in 
one of his vacations having prevailed with m»e to let him volun- 
teer a cruize with Sir Charles Hardy, then com.mander of tlie 
liome fieet, the rage of service seized him, and by his importu- 
nity I may say in the words of Polonius he --lurung from me my 
sloiv lewve to let him enter himself an ensign in the first regi- 
ment of foot-guards. This at once gave fire to the train, and 
the three remaining heroes breathed nothing Ijut war : my sec- 
ond boy George took to the sea, and sailed for America ; my 
third Charles enrolled himself an ensign in the tenth, and my 
youngest William disposed of himself as my second had done, 
and also took his departure for America under the command of 
the late Sir Richard Hughes. 

I had been dispossessed of my delightful residence at Tyring- 
ham, near to which Mr. Praed, the present possessor, has now 
built a splendid mansion, and I had taken a house at Tetworth 
in Bedfordshire to be near my kind and ever honoured friend 
Lady Frances Burgoyne, sister to Lord Halifax. Here I passed 
the summer recesses, and in one of these I wrote the Opera of 
Calypso, for the purpose of introducing to the public the com- 
positions of Mr. Butler, then a young man, newly returned from 
Italy, whei-c he had studied under Piccini, and given early pi-oofs 
of his genius. He passed the summer with me at Tetworth, 
and there he wrote the music for Calypso in the style of a seri- 
ous opera. Calypso was brought out at Covent Garden, but 
that theatre was not by any means possessed of such a strength 
of vocal performers, as have of late years belonged to it. Mrs. 
Kennedy in the part of Telemachus, and Leoni in that of Pro- 
teus, were neither of them very eminently qualified to grace 
the action of an opera, yet as that was a consideration subordi- 
nate to the music, it was to them that Mr. Butler addressed his 
chief attention, and looked up for his support. I believe I may 
venture to say that more beautiful and original compositions 
were never presented to the English stage by a native master, 
thoiigh I am not unmindful of the fame of .\i-taxerxes ; but 



RICHAllD CUMBERLAND. ici 

Calypso, supported only by I.eoni and Mrs. Kennedy, did not 
meet success proportioned to its merit, and I should humbly 
conceive upon the saiTie stage, which has . since been so pow- 
erfully mounted by Braham, Incledon and Storace, it might 
have been revived with brilliant effect. . Why Mr. Butler did 
not publish his music, or a selection at least of those airs, which 
were most applauded, I cannot tell ; but so it was, and the 
.s'core now remains in the depot ofCovent Garden, whilst a few 
only of the songs, and those in manuscript, are in the posses- 
sion of my second daughter Sophia, whom he instructed in 
singing, and with the aid of great natural talents on her part, 
accomplished her very liighly. Calypso as a drama has been 
published, therefore of my share in it as an opera I need not say 
much ; it is tefore the reader, but I confess I lament that music, 
which I conceive to be so exquisitely beautiful, should be buri- 
ed in oblivion. Mr. Butler has been long since settled at Edin- 
burgh as a teacher and writer of music, and is well known to 
the professors and admirers of that art. 

That I may not again recnr to my dramatic connexions with 
this ingenious composer, I will here observe that in the following 
season I wrote a comic opera, which I entitled Tbcf PVidoqJu of 
Delphi, or The Descent of the Deities, the songs of which he set 
to music. Mr. Butler published a selection of songs, &c. from 
this opera, but as I was going out of England I did not send 
my copy to the press, and having now had it many years in my 
hands by the frequent revisions and corrections, which I have 
had opportunities of giving to this manuscript, I am encourag- 
ed to believe that if I, or any after me, shall send it into the 
world, this drama will be considered as one of my most clas- 
sical and creditable productions. 

Having adverted to the happiness and honour, which I en- 
joyed in the friendship of Lady Fi'ances Burgoyne, it occurs to 
me to relate the part, which at her request I undertook, in the 
behalf of the unfortunate Robert Perreau, when under trial for 
his litfc. The defence, which he read at the bar, was to a word 
drawn up by me, under the revision of his counsel Mr. Dun- 
ning, who did not change a syllable. I dined with Garrick on 
the very day when Robert Perreau had delivered it in court ; 
there was a large company, and he was expatiating upon the 
effect of it, for he had been present ; he even detailed the heads 
of it with considerable accuracy, and was so rapturous in his 
praises of it, that he predicted conndcntly, though not truly, 
that the'man, who drew up that defence, had saved the prison- 
er's life, and what would he not give to know who it was i I 
confess my vanity was strongly m.oved to tell him ; but he 
shortly after found it out, and pei'haps repented of his hyper- 
boles, for it was not good policy in him to over-praise a writer 
for the stage. When poor Dodd fell under the like misfor- 
tune, he applied to me in the first instance for tlie like good of- 



ms MEMOIRS OF 

fices, hit ao soon as I understood that application had Ijct-ri 
made to Doctor Johnson, and that he was about to be taken 
under his shield, I did what every other friend to the unhappy 
would have done, consigned him to the stronger advocate, con- 
vinced that if the powers of Johnson could not move mercy to 
reach his lamentable case, there was no further hope in man ; 
his penitence alone could save him. 

I had known sir George Brydges Rodney in early life, and 
whilst he was residing in France, pending the uneasy state of 
his affairs at home, had spared no pains to serve his interest and 
pave the v^'ay for his return to his own country, v/here I was uot 
without hopes by thertcommcndaticn of Lord George Germain 
to procure him an employment worthy of his talents and high 
station in the navy. I drew up from his minutes a memorial of 
his services, and petitioned i"or employ : he came home at the 
risque of his liberty to refute some malicious imputations, that 
had been glanced at his chiractei : this he effectually and hon- 
ourably accomplished, and i was furnished with testimonials 
very creditable to him as an ofHcer ; his situation in the mean- 
while was very uncomfortable and his exertions circumscribed, 
yet in this pressure of his affairs, to mark his readiness and zeal 
for service, he addressed a letter to the king, tendering himself 
to serve as volunteer under an admiral, then going out, who, if I 
do not mistake, v,-;is his junior on the list. In this forlorn un- 
friended state, with nothing but exclusion and despair before his 
eyes, when not a'ray of hope beamed upon him from the admi- 
ralty, and he dared not set a foot beyond the limits of his priv- 
ilege, I had tlie happy fortune to put m train that statement of 
his claim for service and employ, which through the immediate 
appiicaiion of Lord George, taking all the responsibility on 
himself, obtained for that adventurous and gallant admiral the 
command of that squadron, which on its passage to the West 
Indies made capture of the Spanish fleet fitted out for the Carac- 
cas. The degree of gratification, which I then experienced, is 
not easily to be described. It was not only that of > triumpli 
gained, but of a terror dismissed, for the West India merchants 
had been alarmed and clamoured against the appointment so 
generally and so decidedly as to occasion no small uneasiness to 
my friend and patron, and drew from him something, that re- 
sembled a remonstrance for the risque I had exposed him to- 
Eut in the brilliancy of this exploit all was done away, and past 
alarms were only recollected to contrast the joy which this suc- 
cess diffused. 

Here I hope to be forgiven if I record an answer of Lord 
George Germain's to an officious gentleman, who upon some ref- 
erence to me in his concerns expressed himself with surprise at 
the degree of influence which I appeared to have — " You are 
very right," replied my friend, " that gentleman has a great deal 
to do with me and my affairs, and if you can find any other to 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. I(i9 

take his place as disinterestedly attached to me and as capable 
of serving me, I am confident he will hold himself very highly 
■obliged to you for relieving him from a burden, that brings him 
neitlier profit nor advantage, and only subjects him to such 
remarks, as you have now been making — ." 

It happened to me to be present, and sitting next to Admiral 
Rodney ac table, wiien the thought seemed first to occur to him 
' of breaking the French line by passing through it in the heat of 
the actionT It was at Lord George Germain's house at Stone- 
land after dinner, when having asked a number of questions 
about the manccuvring of columns, and the effect of charging 
with them on a line of infantry, he proceeded to arrange a par- 
cel of cherry stones, which he had collected from the table, and 
forming them as two fleets drawn up in line and opposed to 
each other, he at once airested our attention, which had not 
been very generally engaged by his preparatory enquiries, by 
declaring he was determined so to pierce the enemy's line of 
battle, (arranging his manoeuvre at the same time on the table) 
if ever it was his fortune to brinsr them into action. I dare say 
this passed with some as me'- lapsody, and all seemed to re- 
gard it as a very perilon- '^tful experiment, but lands- 
men's doubts and diffic no impression on the admi- 
ral, who having seized tL '^ fast, and in his eager an- 
imated way went on mana ■ '^p'-ry stones, and throw- 
ing his enemy's representati ..t°r- confusion, that 
already possessed of that vict ,■ which in reali- 
ty he lived to gain, he conclu ' swearing he 
would lay the French admiral's n's feet; a 
promise which he actually pledget. 'is closet, 
and faithfully and gloriously perfor 

He was a singular and extraordinai -• some 

prominent and striking eccentricities ^ on a 

first acquaintance might dismiss a curse ade- 

quate and false impressions of his real ch 'ild 

very coir 1 only indulge himself in a loose -L' 

talking, which for a time might intercept a 
serration the sound good sense that he p 
strength and dignity of mind, that were natur^ ' ■■ ■, 
ther ought it to be forgotten that the sea was hi el' 
it was there, and not on land, that the standard 
planted by which his merits should be measured. 
to set that man down as vain-glorious and unv^ise, \ lights 

battles over the table, and in the ardour of his conversation 
though amongst enviers and enemies, keeps no watch upon his 
words, confiding in their candour and believing them his friends. 
Such a man was Admiral Lord Rodney, whom history will re- 
cord amongst the foremost of our naval heroes, and whoever 
doubts his courage might as well dispute against the light of 
the sun at noon-Jay. 

P 



no MEMOIRS OF 

Th?. he carried this projected manoeuvre into operation, and 
thatth<; effect of it was successfully decisive all the world knows. 
My friend sir Charles Douglas, captain of the fleet, confessed to 
me that he himself had been adverse to the experiment, and in 
discussing it with the admiral had stated his objections ; to 
these he got no other answer but that " his counsel was not 
" called for ; he required obedience only, he did not want ad- 
" vice — " sir Charles also told me that whilst the project was 
in operation, (the battle then raging) his own attention being 
occupied by the gallant defence made by the French Glorieux 
against the ships that were pouring their fire into her, upon his 
crying out — " Behold, sir George, the Greeks and Trojans con- 
" tending for the body of Patroclus ! — " The admiral, then pa- 
cing the quarter deck in great agitation pending the experiment 
of his manoeuvre, (which in the instance of one ship had una- 
voidably miscarried) peevishly exclaimed — " Damn the Greeks 
and damn the Trojans ; I have other things to think of — ." 
When in a few mi;uites after, his supporting ship having led 
through the French line in a gallant style, turning with a smile 
of joy to sir Charles Douglas, he cried out — " Now my dear 
friend, I am at the service of your Greeks and Trojans, and 
the whole of Homer's Iliad, or as much of it as you please, for 
the enemy is in confusion, and our victory is secui-e — ." This 
anecdote, correctly as I relate it, I had from that gallant officer, 
untimely lost to his country, wliose candour scorned to rob his 
admiral of one leaf of his laurels, and v/ho, disclaiming all share 
in the manoeuvre, nay confessing he had objected to it, did in 
the most pointed and decided terms again and again repeat his 
honourable attestations of the courage and conduct of his com- 
manding office-- on that memorable day. 

In a short ^ime after, when, upon a change of the administra- 
tion, this victorious admiral was superseded and called home, 
he confirmed by his practice that maxim, which he took every 
opportunity to inculcate, (and a very wise one and well worthy 
of being recorded it is,) viz. — '< That our naval o.'xers have 
" nothing to do with parties and politics, being simply bound 
*' to carry their instructions into execution, to the best of 
" thi?Ir abilities, without deliberating about men and measures, 
<' which forms no part of their duty, and for which they are in 
"no degree responsible— ." It was to this transaction I allud- 
ed in the following lines, which I wrote and inclosed to Lord 
Mansfield about this time. I had the honour and happiness of 
enjoying his society frequently, but the immediate rea-on for my 
addressing him in this style has no connexion with the subject 

here referred to 

To ike Earl cf MaKsfeld. 

" Shall merit find no shelter but tl.e grave, 
" And envy still pursue the wise and brave ;' 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. I7i 

" Sticks the leech close to life, and only drops 

" When its food fails and the iieait's ciUTent stops ? 

" Though sculptur'd laurels grace the hero's bust, 

« And tears are mingled wiLh the poet's dust, 

" Review their sad memorials, you will find 

" This fell by faction, that in misery pin'd. 

" When France and Spain the subject ocean swept, 
"Whilst Briton's tame inglorious lion slept, 
" Or iashi.ig up his courage now and then, 
" Turn'd out and growl'd, and then turn'd in again, 
" Rodney in that ill-omen'd hour arose, 
" Crush'd his own firt-t and next his country's foes ; 
" Though all that fate allow 'd was nobly won, 
*' Envy could squint at something still undone ; 
" Injurious facuon stript him of command, 
" And snatch'd the helm from his victorious hand, 
" Summon'd the nation's brave defender home, 
" Prejudg'd his cau.^e and vvarn'd him to his doom ; 
" Whilst hydra-headed malice open'd wide 
** Her thousand mouths, and bay'd him till he died. 

** The poet's cause comes next — and you my Lord, 
" The Muse's friend, will take a poet's word ; 
♦* Trust me our province is replete with pain ; 
" They say we 're irritable, envious, vain : 
*• They say — and Time has varnish'd o'er the lie 
** Till it assumes Truth's venerable dye — 
" That wits, like falcons soaring for their prey, 
" Pounce every wing that flutters in their way, 
*< Plunder each rival songster's tuneful breast 
" To deck with others' plumes their own dear nest ; 
" They say — but 'tis an office I disclaim 
" To brush their cobwebs from the i-oll of fame, 
♦< There let the spider hang and work his worst, 
" And spin his flimsy venom till he burst ; 
*' Ropiiies beneath the holiest shrine may dwell, 
*' And toads engender in the purest well. 

*• Genius must pay its tax like other wares 
" According to the value which it bears ; 
" On sterling worth detraction's stamp is laid, 
" As gold before 'tis current is assay'd. 
" Fame is a debt time present never pays, 
" But leaves it on the score to future days ; 
" And why is restitution thus deferr'd 
" Of long arrears from year to year incurr'd ? 
" AVhy to posterity this labour given 
" To search out frauds and set defaulters even i 



i~-^ MEMOIRS OF 

" If our sons hear our praise 'tis well, and yet 
" Praise in the father's ear had sounded sweet. 

" Still there is one exception we must own, 
" Whom all conspire to praise, and one alone ; 
" One on whose living brow we plant the wreath^ 
" Aou almost deify on this side death ; 
" Ke in the plaudits of the present age 
" Already reads his own historic page, 
" And, though preeminence is under heav'n 
" The last of crimes by man to be forgiv'n, 
" Justice her own vice-gerent will defend, 
" The orphan's father and the widow's friend -, 
*' Truth, virtue, genius mingle beams so bright, 
« Envy is dazzl'd with excess of light : 
" Detraction's tongue scarce stammers out a fault, 
" And faction blushes for its own assault. 
«' His is the happy gift, the nameless grace, 
" That shapes and fits the man to every place, 
" The gay companion at the social board, 
" The guide of councils, or the senate's lord, 
" Now regulates the law's discordant strife, 
-' Now balances the scale of death or life, 
•■' Sees guilt engendering in the human heart, 
•• And strips from falsehood's face the mask of art, 
'' Whether, assembled with the wise and great, 
•' He stands the pride and pillar of the state, 
" With well-weigh'd argument distinct and clear 
" Confirms the judgment and delights the ear, 
" Or in the festive circle deigns to sit 
" Attempering wisdom with the charms of wit — 
" Blest talent, fonn'd to profit and to please, 
" To clothe Instruction in the garb of Ease, 
" Sublime to rise, or graceful to descend, 
" Now save an empire and now cheer a friend. 

** More I could add, but you perhaps complain, 
" And call it mere creation of the brain ; 
" Poets you say will flatter — true, they will ; 
" But I nor inclination have nor skill — 
" Where is your model, you will ask me, where ? 
« Search your own breast, my Lord, you '11 find it there." 

It is in this period cf my life's history, that by accepting a 
commission, which took me into Spain, I was subjected to 
events, that have very strongly contrasted and changed the com- 
plexion of my latter days from that of the preceding ones. 

I will relate no other circumstances of this negociation than 
I am in honour and strict conscience warranted to make pub» 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 173 

he. For more than twenty years I have been silent, making no 
appeals at any time but to my otFicial employers, who were 
pledged to do me justice. What I gained by those appeals, and 
how far that justice was administered to me, will appear iVom the 
detail, which I am now about to give ; and though I hope to 
render this narrative not unentertaining to my readers, yet I do 
most faithfully assure them that no tittle of the trii^.h shall be 
sacrificed to description, being resolved to give no colour to facts 
and events, but such as they can strictly bear, nor ev ,r know ingly 
permit a word to stand in these pages inconsistent with tnat 
veracity, to which I am so soleinnly engaged. 

In the year 1780, and about the time of Rodney's capture of 
the Caracca fleet, I had opportunities of discovering through a 
secret channel of intelligence many thi fgs passing, and some 
concerting, between the confidential agents of France and Spain, 
(particularly the latter) resident in this country, and in private 
correspondence with the enemies of it. Of these communica- 
tions I made that use, which my duty dictated, and to my judg- 
ment seemed advisable. By these, in the cour^.e of their progress; , 
a prospect was opened of a secret negociation with the Minis- 
ter Florida Blanca, to which I v\'as personally cojnmitted, and 
of course could not decline the undertaking it. My distination 
was to repair to the neutral port of Lisbon, there to abide 
whilst the Abbe Hussey, chaplain to his Catholic Majesty, pro- 
ceeded to Aranjeuz, and by the advice, which he should send 
me, I was to be governed in the alternative of either going into 
Spain for the purpose of carrying my instructions into execu- 
tion, or of returning home by the same ship, that conveyed me 
thither, which was ordered to wait my determination for the 
space of three weeks, unless dismissed or employed by me with- 
in that period. 

I was to take my wife and two daughters Elizabeth and Sophia 
with me on the pretence of travelling into Ita'y upon a pa^.-pc-rt 
through the Spanish dominions, and having received my instruc- 
tions and letters of accreditation from the Earl of liillsborough, 
Secretary of State, on the 17th day of April, 1780, 1 took my 
departure for Portsmouth, there to embark on board his maj.-'s- 
ty's frigate Milford, which I had particularly asked for, as 
knowing her character to be that of a remarkable swift sailer. 
On my arrival at Portsmouth I found she had gone out upon a 
short cruize after a French privateer, but was expected e\ery 
hour. On the L-ilst she came in from her cruize, and I delivered 
tQ her Captain sir William Burnaby two letters from theAdmi- 
. ralty, one directing him to receive me and my family on board, 
the other .to be opened when he came off the Start-point. 

This frigate being from long and constant service in a weak 
and leaky state, on which account sir \v illiam had lately 
brought her into port, and undergone a couit martial in cr.nse- 
quence of it, I found him and his officers under some alarm as 

P2 



174 MEMOIRS OF 

to the unknown extent of my destination, suspecting that I 
might be bound to the West Indies, and justly doubting the 
sea-worthiness of the ship for any distant voyage. On tiiis 
point I could give them no satisfaction, but on the day follow- 
ing her arrival, (viz. April 2^d) went on board to assist in ad- 
justing the accommodations for the females of my family. 

In consequence of strong and adverse winds we remained at 
Spithead till the 28th, when at eight o'clock in the morning we 
weighed anchor with the wind at south, and brought to at 
Cowes. Here I fixed three double-headed shot to the box, that 
contained my papers and instructions, and the wind still hang- 
ing in the south-west, foul and unfavourable, it was not till the 
2d of May, when upon its veering to the north-east we took our 
departure in the forenoon from Cowes, and upon its dying away 
anchored in mid-channel for the night in 20 fathom water. 
Needle-rocks S. W. by W. Yarmouth S. E. by S. 

Being off the Stai-t-point On the sd instant sir William Bur- 
naby opened his orders, and with great satisfaction found his 
destination to be to Lisbon ; we saw a large fleet to westward 
at the Start -point, which proved to be the Quebec trade out- 
ward-bound under convoy. On the 6th having passed the 
Land'c-end, we found the fore-mast sprung below the trussel 
trees, and by the next day the carpenter had moulded a fish on 
it, when the gale having freshened with rain and squalls, we 
struck top-gallants, handed the fore-sail and hove to under the 
main-sail ; on the 9th the gale increased, and having reefed and 
furled the main-sail, we laid to under the main-stay-sail and 
mizen-stay-sail : Lat. 49° 4' ; Long. 1° 45'. Land'h-end. 

Our situation now became very uncomfortable, and our safety 
suspicious, for the sea was truly mountainous, and broke over 
our low and leaky frigate in a tremendous style, which in the 
meanwhile occasionally received such hard and heavy shocks, as 
caused serious apprehenbions even in those to whom danger 
was familiar. I had in my passages to Ireland been in angry 
seas and blowing weather, but nothing I had seen bore any 
resemblance to the fury of this gaie, nor could any thing but 
the confidence I had reason to place in British seamen, and 
the exertions, which I witenessed on their pait, have stood be- 
tween me and absolute despair. The dreadful sight and deafen- 
ing uproar of those tremendous seas, that by turns whelmed us 
under a canopy of water, making darkness at mid-day, and ren- 
dering every voice inaudible, were as much as my nerves could 
bear, and whilst the ship was quivering and settling, as I con- 
ceived, upon the point of going down, I thought it high time 
to set out in search of those beloved objects, who had embark- 
ed themselves with me, and v. ere as I supposed suffering the 
extreme of terror and alarm. How greatly was I mistaken in 
the calculation of their fortitude ! I found my wife, then far 
gone with child, m her cot within the cabin, the water flowing 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 175 

through it like a sluice, so perfectly collected and composed, 
that I forbore to speak of the situation we were in, and did not 
hint at the purpose, which brought me to her ; but she, who 
knew too well what was passing to be deceived as to the motive 
of my coming to her, said to mc — " You are alarmed I believe ; 
so am not I. We are in a British ship of war, manned with 
British seamen, and, if we are in danger, which I conclude we 
are, I don't doubt but they know how to carry us through it." 
Thus divested of my alarm by the intrepidity of the very per. 
son, who had so great a share in causing it, I made my way 
with some difficulty to the ward-room, where my daughtert, had 
taken shelter, whilst Mr. Lucas the purser was serenading them 
with what would have been a country dance, if the ship had not 
danced so violently out of all time and tune. In this nioment 
the Abbe Hussey, who had followed me, upon a sudden pitch 
of the ship burst head foremost into the ward-room, and with 
the momentum of a gun broken loose from its la^hings over- 
turned poor Lucas, demolishing his violin, the table, and every 
thing frangible that his colossal figure came in contact with. 

Such was our situation on the 9th of May, and v\dien upon 
the morning following the gale moderated we set the mizen and 
foretop-mast stay-sail, and swaying the top-gallant-mast up, set 
main-sail and fore-sail, working the pumps to keep the ship free, 
whilst the sea ran very lofty with a heavy swell. This was the 
last time the Milford frigate ever went to sea, for by the time we 
anchored in the Tagus her main-deck exhibited sufficient proofs 
how completely she was broken-backed by straining in the gale. 
I will here relate an incident nOtothenvise interesting or curi- 
ous but as a mere matter of chance, which tends in some degree 
to shew the credulity of our seafaring countrymen. I had beea 
in the habit of wearing in my pocket a broad silver piece given 
to me as a keep-sake by my son George, who received his death 
at the siege of Charle&town in South Carolina the very day after 
he had taken command of an armed vessel, to which he was ap- 
pointed. This piece had been beaten out from a dollar by a 
marine belonging to the Milford then on the American station, 
and presented by him to my son then a midshipm.an serving on 
board : on this piece the artist had engraved the Miifoi'd in full 
sail, and on the reverse my coat of arms, and upon my discov- 
ering that this same ingenious marine, now become a serjeant, 
was on the same quarter-deck with me, I had been talking with 
him upon the incident, and shewing him that I had carefully 
preserved his present, which to this hour I have done, and am 
now wearing it in my pocket. This man, though a brave and or- 
derly Moldier, had so completely yielded himself up to a kind of 
religious enthusiasm as to be piiinged in the profoundest apathy 
and iadifferenee towards life ; still he exhibited on this occasion 
some small show of sensibiiity at the sight of ;u i)wn work, and 
the recollection of an amiable youth, now untimely lost. The 



176 MEMOIRS OF 

wind was adverse to our course, our ship still labouring in a heavy- 
sea, whilst strong and sudden squalid, which every now and then 
annoyed us, together with the ince>sant labour of the pumps, de- 
nied our people that repose, which their past toils denianded : 
in this gloomy moment the fancy struck me to make trial of the 
superstition of the man at the helm by laying this silver piece 
on the face of the compass, as a charm to turn the wind a point 
or two in our favour, which I boldly promised it would do. I 
found my gallant shipmate eagerly disposed to conhde in the 
expei'iment, which he put out of ail doubt by clinching his belief 
in it with a deposition upon oath, quite sufficient to convince 
me of his sincerity, and something more than necessary for the 
occasion. Accordingly I laid my charm upon the glass of the 
compass with all the solemnity I could assume, whilst my friend 
kept hia eyes alternately employed upon that and the dog-vane, 
till in a few minutes with a second oath, much niore ornamented 
and embroidered than the former, he announced to the convic- 
tion of all present a considerable shift of wind in our favour. 
Credulity now began to circulate most rapidly through the ship ; 
even the officers seemed to have caught some touches of its in- 
fluence, and my friend the meditative serjeant raised his eyes 
with some astonishm.ent fi^om his book, where they had been 
riveted to a few dirty pages loose and torn, as it seemed, out of 
Sherlock's volume upon death. My tirst prediction having suc- 
ceeded so luckily, I boldly promised them a prize in view, and 
whimsical as the incident is, yet it so chanced that in a very 
short time the man at the mast-head sung out two ships bear- 
ing north standing to the southward ; this happened at one 
o'clock ; at half-an-hour past the sternniost tacked and made 
sail to the northward ; we found our ship gaining fast upon her, 
and at four hoisted Dutch colours ; at three quarters after 
hoisted St. George's ensign, and fired a shot at her ; at five she 
hoisted French colours and fired a broadside into us, and at six 
she struck, and proved to be the Due de Coigny private frigate 
of 28 guns, Mignionet commander, belonging to Granville ; 
this gallant Fi-enchman had scarcely pronounced his anathema 
against the man, that should ofier to strike his colours, when 
his head was blown to atoms by one of our cannon balls : the 
prize lost her second captain also and had 50 of her men killed 
and wounded : we had two seamen and one marine killed, and 
four s&amen and one marine wounded. 

This was a new and striking spectacle to a landsman like me, 
and though I am dwelling on an incident which to a naval read- 
er may seem trifling, yet as it was my good fortune to be pres- 
ent at an animating scene, which does not occur to every man, 
who occasionally passes the seas in ray situation, I presume I 
am excusable for my description of it. 

When I witnessed the dispatch, with which a ship is cleared 
for action, the silence and good order so strictly observed, and 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 177 

the commands so distinctly given upon going into action, I was 
impressed with the greatest respect for the discipline and pre- 
cision observed on boa^d our ships of war. Such coohiess and 
preparatory arrangement seemed to me a security for success 
and conquest. Our spirited purser Mr. Lucas performed bet- 
ter with his musket than his viohn, and whilst standing by him 
on the quarter-deck I plainly saw him pick off a French officer 
in a green coat, whom he jocularly called the parrot, the last of 
three whom he had dismissed to their watery graves. My mel- 
ancholy friend the engraver had his arm shattered by the first 
fire of the enemy, which he received with the most stoical in- 
difference, and would not be persuaded to leave the quarter- 
deck till the action was over, when going down to be dressed as 
my eldest daughter (now Lady Edward Bentinck) was coming 
up from below he gallantly presented that very arm to assist 
her, and when, observing him shrink upon her touching it, 
she said to him — " Serjeant, I am afraid you are wounded — " he 
calmly replied — " To be sure I am. Madam, else I should not 
♦' have been so bold to have crossed you on the stairs — " This 
was a strain of chivalry worthy of the days of old, and some- 
thing more than Tom Jones's gallantry to Sophia Western, who 
only offered her his serviceable arm, and kept the broken one 
unemployed. One other incident, though of a very different 
sort, occun-ed as I was handing her along the main-deck from 
the bread-room, when slipping in the blood and brains of a poor 
fellow, who laid dead beside his gun, an insensible brat who 
was boasting and rejoicing at his own escape, cried out — 
" Have a care. Miss, how you tread. Look at this fellow ; I 
** stood close by him, when he got this knock : the shot went 
" clear over me, and this damn'd fool put his head in the way 
« of it. Was'nt that a droll affair ?— " 

The shifting the prisoners was a task of danger, as the sea 
ran very high, and they were beastly drunk. In this our people 
were employed all night : when they had refitted the rigging 
shot away in the action, and hoisted in the boats, we made sail 
with the prize in company. The carpenters were employed in 
repaii'ing the boats, which were stove in shifting the prisoners, 
of which we took on board 155 French and Americans : Lat. 
49°6'. Long. 1°45'. 

Our surgeon and his assistants being exhau; ted with theirduty 
on board both ships, my anxiety kept me sleepless through a 
turbulent night, and I went about the ship to the wounded men, 
one of whom (James Eaton by name) a quarter-master and one 
of the finest fellows I ever saw, expired as I stood by him with- 
out any external hurt, having been struck in the side by a splin- 
ter. I read the burial service over him the next morning, whilst 
Abbe Hussey performed that office for the other two, who were 
Irish and of his communion. 
On the uth we took the prize in tow ; we had fresh breezes 



178 MEMOIRS OF 

with dai'k cloudy weather, and at midnight we wore ship, and 
in veei-ing having broken the hawser we shortened sail for the 
prize, but soon after made signal for her to stand about and go 
into port, which she safely ettected. In the course of this day 
I wrote a song for my amusement descriptive of our action, and 
adapted it to the tune of — 

JVh'tht here at Deal <iue're lying, bojs, 
With the noble Commodore — 

Our crew were very musically inclined, and we had some 
passably good dingers amongst them, which suggested to me the 
idea of writing this sea-song ; we frequently sung it at Lisbon in 
lusty choi-us, but their delicacy would not allow them to let it 
be once heard till their prisoners were removed ; and this was 
the answer made to me by a ccmimon seaman, when I asked 
why they would not sing it during the' voyage : an objection, 
which had escaped me, but which I felt the full force of, when 
stated to me by him. 

The song was as follows, and the circumstances, under which 
it was hastily written, must be my apology for inserting it — 

" 'Twas up the wind'three leagues or more 

" We spied a lofty sail ; 
«' Set your top-gallant sails, my boys, 

<' And closely hug the gale. 

« Nine knots the nimble Milford ran, 

*' Thus, thus, the master cried ; 
*< Hull up we brought the chace in view, 

" And soon were side by side. 

«• Dowse your Dutch ensign, up Saint George ! 

" To quarters now all hands ; 
" With lighted match beside his gun 

" Each British hero stands. 

" Give fire our gallant captain cries, 

" 'Tis done, the cannons roar ; 
" Stand clear, Mounseers, digest these pills, 

" And soon we'll send you more." 

<' Our chain-shot whistles in the wind, 

" Our grape descends like hail — 
" Hurrah, my souls ! three cheering shouts, 

" French hearts begin to quail. 

« Rak'd fore and aft her shatter'd hull 
•* Lets in the briny flood, 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 1T9 

" Her decks are caniag'd with the slain, 
" Her scuppers stream with blood. 

" Her French jack shivers in'the wind, 

" Its lilies all look pale ; 
<* Down it must come, it must come down, 

" For Britons will prevail. 

" And see ! 'tis done : she strikes, she yields ; 

" Down haughty flag of France : 
" Now board her, boys, and on her staff 

" The English cross advance ! 

" There, there triumphantly it flies, 

" It conquers and it saves — 
<* So gaily toss the can about, 

" For Britons rule the waves." 

During the 12th, 13th, and 14th, we had fresh gales and 
squally, till on the night of the latter, being then in Lat. 44°2'. 
Long. 3° 16'. we had light airs and fair weather, when descry- 
ing a frigate under English colours to the southward, standing 
to the northward, we cleared ship for action, but ioon after lost 
sight of her. The next day, viz. the 15th, wc saw a fleet of 
the enemy to the southward standing to the westward, forty- 
five in number, of which were eight sail of the line and three or 
four frigates. They proved to be the French squadron under 
the command of Tournay, and having brought to on the star- 
board tack dispatched a line of battle ship in chace of us ; com- 
ing down in a slanting course she appeared at first to gain upon 
us, till half past eight in the evening, (our rate being then bet- 
ter than at twelve knots) she left oiT chace, having given us her 
lower guns, whilst the prisoners, expecting us to be captured, 
became so unruly, that our men were obliged to drive them 
down with the hand-spikes. 

On the 1 Gtli we brought to and took a Portuguese pilot on 
board, passed the Burlings, and the next day at ;,ix in the eve- 
ning anchored with the best bower in eight fathom water, Bc- 
lem Castle N. E. Abbe Hussey and I with the second lieuten- 
ant landed at the castle, and at eight at night we obtained pra- 
tique. We found riding here his majesty's ship Romney, Cap- 
tain Home, with the Cormorant sloop. Captain John Payne, 
under the command of Commodore Johnstone. 

One of my first employments was to purchase a large stock 
of oranges for the refreshment of the ship's company, especial- 
ly the wounded, and of these my friend the serjeant conde- 
scended to partake, though he had been so extremely occupied 
with his meditations upon death, as hardly to be persuaded to 
let liis arm bo dressed, answering ail the kind enquiries of his 



180 MEMOIRS OF 

comrades in the most sullen and oftentimes abusive terms — 
•* They were wicked wretches and deserved daniiiatJon for pre- 
*' suming to condole with him. It was God's good pleasure 
" to exercise his spirit with pain, and he had supreme satisfac- 
" tion in bearing it. What business was it of their's to be iroub- 
" ling him with their impertinent enquiries :""' — This was in 
the style of his civilest replies ; to some his answers were 
very short and extremely gross. 

The day after our arrival we weighed and dropt farther up 
the river ; at night we discharged the prisoners, and the com- 
modore visited us in his barge. Mr. Hussey piepared for his 
journey into Spain, and I provided apartments for my family at 
Mrs. Duer's hotel at Buenos Ayres. The next day the com- 
modore entertained us at Belem, and the day ensuing he, with 
Captains Home and Payne, dined with us on board. 

My orders were to wait at Lisbon till Mr. Hussey wrote to 
me from Aranjeuz, and according to the tenor of his report I 
was to use my discretion as to proceeding onwards, or return- 
ing home ; and this being a point decisive as to my credit or 
discredit in the management of the business I was entrusted 
with, I was most urgent and precise with Mr. Hussey in con- 
juring him to be extremely careful and correct in his report, by 
which I was to guide myself, and this he solemnly promised 
me that he would observe. On the If^th and 20th I prepared 
my dispatches, and on the 21st delivered thtm to the pacquet 
master, who took his departure that very day. 

In the mean time I understood from Mr. Hussey, that in ap- 
plying to the Spanish ambassador Count Fernan Nunez for his 
passport, he liad committed himself to a conversation, from 
which he drew very promising expectations ; of this I informed 
my proper minister Lord Hillsborough, as will appear by the 
following extract of my letter dated the 19th of May 1780. 

« My Lord, 

" When Mr. Hussey waited on Count Fernan Nunez 
" yesterday for his passport, he would have made his commis- 
<« sion for the exchange of prisoners the pretence for his journey 
" into Spain, but the ambassador gave him plainly to under- 
'< stand he was confidential with Count Florida Blanca in the 
" business upon which we are come. This being the case, Mr. 
*' Hussey thought it by no means necessary to decline a conver- 
" sation with the ambassador under proper reserve. He was 
« soon told that his arrival was anxiously expected at Aranjuez. 
" No expression of good will to him, to me, and to the com- 
" mission I am entrusted with was omitted. It was proposed 
<' by the ambassador to pay me the honour of a visit, if accept- 
" able, in any way I liked best ; but this Mr. Hussey without 
" referring to me very properly and readily prevented. 

« He entered into many pertinent enquiries as to the state of 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. ifil 

" the ministry, and the manner in Avhich Lord North had been 
♦' pressed in the House of Commons ; he would have stirred the 
" question of an acconamoJation with France, but was plainly 
*' answered by Mr. Hiissey that he had no one word to say up- 
" on that subject ; the channel was open, he observed, but ours 
' ' was not that channel — * * 

" The conversation then closed with such assurances of a sin- 
" cere pacific disposition on the pait of Spain, that if Count 
" Fenian Nunez reports fairly and is not imposed on, our busi- 
" ness seems to be in an auspicious train — ** *" 

My gratitude to Sir William Burnaby and his ofHcers induc- 
ed me to address the following letter and request to Lord Hiii=- 
borough, which I made separate, and sent under cover of the 
same dispatch. 

" To the Earl of Hillsborough" 

" May the 20th 1780. 
" My Lord, *' Milford frigate oft'Beleni. 

" I cannot let this opportunity go by without express- 
' ing to your Lordship, and through you to Lord Sandwich, 
' my most thankful acknowledgments for indulging my wishes 
' by putting me on board the Milford under the care and com.- 
' mand of Sir William Burnaby, whose unremitted kindness 
' and attention to me and my family, I can neither duly relate 
' nor repay. Throughout a long and an eventful j issage, 
' whether we were struggling with a gale, or clearing chip for 
' action, both he and his officers uniformly conducted them- 
' selves with that harmony, temper and precision, as seemed to 
' put them in assured possession of success ; the iVien them- 
' selves have been so long attached to their oflicers, and all of 
' them to the ship itself, that the severest duty is here directed 
' without an oath, and obeyed without a murmur. — Though 
' we have been encumbered with such a crowd of prisoners, 
' many of whom seemed to possess the spirit of mu*^iny in full 
force, our discipline has kept all in perfect quiet, and such hu- 
mane attention has been paid to their health, that not a sin- 
gle prisoner has sickened or complained. 
" I take the liberty of intruding upon your lordship with 
'these particulars to introduce a suit to you, which I have 
' most anxiously at heart, and in which I am joined with equal 
' anxiety by my friend Mr. Husscy : it is, my lord, to beseech 
' you to promote the application made by Sir William Burna- 
' by to Lord Sandwich in behalf of his first lieul i.-ant Mr Wil- 
' Ham Grosvenor to be made master and commander ; an ofn- 
'cer of ten years standing, well known in the navy and distin- 
' guished for activity, sobriety and professional skiil and abi!- 
'ity: he went round the world with Admi'al Byron, and is 
' liighly respected by him ; he has been in this ship during the 



182 MEMOIRS OF 

•' whole war, and assisted in the capture of near fourscore pri- 
" zes, by which he has acquired very little more than the ap- 
" probation of his captains, and the love and reverence of the 
" men. 

" Had our prize been a king's ship Mr. Grosvenor would 
" have come home in her, and his promotion would most prob- 
" biy have followed in train ; however, as she is a very fine 
" new frigate and will I dare say be reported fit for the king's 
" use, the opportunity is judged favourable for recommending 
" Mr. Grosvenor's pretensions, and as the Milford may be said 
•' to be now acting under your lordship's orders, I flatter my- 
'* self you will take her under your protection by granting your 
" good offices with Lord Sandwich in Mr. Grosvenor's behalf ; 
" an obligation, that I shall ever gratefully carry in remembrance. 
* " I have the honour to be, &c. &c. 

" R. C." 

This letter produced no advantage to Mr. Grosvenor, nor any 
other gratification to me except the recollection that I had 
done my best to serve a meritorious officer. 

At Buenos Ayres I was visited by our minister Mr. Walpole, 
Commodore Johnstone, Sir John Hort the consul. Captain 
Payne and several gentlemen of the factory. On the 25th in- 
stant the ceremony of the Corpus Christi took place in a day 
excessively sultry, when the king and prince walked with the 
patriarch of Lisbon, the religious orders, knights of Chri&t and 
nobility of Portugal, in procession through the streets, of 
which even the ruins were decorated with rich tapestries, silks 
and velvets, forming at once a splendid and a melancholy scene. 
I was with my daughters at a house, from which we had a 
very good view of what was passing, and as they presented 
themselves at an open window in their English dresses, (and I 
may add without vanity in all their native charms) they most 
c\ident!y arrested the attention of the holy brotherhood in a 
manner, that by no means harmonised with the solemnity of 
their office ; more perfect wolves in sheep's clothing never were 
beheld. The haughtiness and ill-breeding of the Portuguese 
nobles is notorious to a proverb. One of these, the son of the 
minister Pombal, came into the room where I was waiting for 
the procession above mentioned ; turning to me with an 
air of supercilious protection, very awkwardly assumed, and 
making a motion with his hand towards a chair, he was pleased 
to tell me that / nught sit donx<n — There was an insolence in the 
manner of it \ , :sistibly provoking, and I am not ashamed to say 
>ny answer was at least as contemptuous as his address was in- 
solent. 

Early in the morning of the 30th T went with my daughters, 
and some of our naval friends to Cintra, visiting the palace of 
Queluz in the way : the tenors of an earthquake are evidently 



RICHARD CUxMBERLAND. 183 

expressed in the construction of this palace, which is nothing 
more than a long range of pavilions in the Moorish character 
very richly furnished and profuc^ely gilt ; the heat was quite op- 
pressive, but the shady walks and delicious odour of the orange 
groves, the refreshing sight of the fountains and exquisite beau- 
ty of the flowers in high bloom and boundless abundance re- 
compensed all we suffered by the iniil-day violence of the burn- 
ing sun. In the romantic and more temperate retreat of Cintra 
we enjoyed the most charming and enchanting scenes and pros- 
pects nature can display. The rock, the cork convent and the 
ancient palace of Cintra are objects that surpass description ; 
from the latter of these the rock and town of Cintra, with all 
the country about it as far as to the palace of Mafra, till where 
it is bounded by the sea, form a most superb and interesting 
scene ; the interior of the castle is imfurnished, though the 
painted tiles, gilded ceilings and arrangement of the apartments, 
opening to parterres, cut out of the rock in stories and terraces 
one above the other, is singularly grand and striking. In one of 
the great chambers the ceiling is ornamented with the scutch- 
eons of all the noble families of Portugal affixed to the necks of 
stags of no ordinary painting or design, and, though very an- 
cient, their remarkable freshness bespeaks the extreme softness 
and dryness of the climate ; in this collection the bearings and 
titles of the noble family of D'Aven-o had a conspicuous station, 
from vviiicn they are now dislodged and their ver- .ame ex- 
punged. 

On our retmn to Lisbon we passed the remarkable aqueduct 
of Alcantara so often debcribed, arid on the 5th of June at early 
monung I received the expected dispatch from Mr. Hussey with 
letters inclosed for the Earl of Hillsborough and Lord George 
Germaiji — His letter to me was as foiiows — 

" Aranjuez, 31st May 1780. 
" My dear fiiend, 

" I arrived here three days ago, conversed with the 
" minister of state upon the subject of your journey, and do 
" hnd that the delays, which this business met with, and the 
*' different turn, which matters have taken, render this negocia- 
" tion every day exceedingly arduous and difficult. However 
** as the minister is so very desirous of finding some means to 
" bring it to a happy conclusion, and as you are already so far 
" advanced on your journey, I think it by all means advisable 
*' that you come, (giving out that you mean to pass through 
" Spain for the benefit of your health) and so give the negocia- 
** tion a fair trial. You know me too well to suspect that I 
" shall be wanting to cultivate the good wishes of the minister 
" of state, and to incline him towards an accommodation. My 
" servant Daly carries a memorandum of the road and the dif- 
" ferent places wiiere the relays of carriages are to meet you. 



184 MEMOIRS OF 

" Do not forget to mention to Mrs. Cumberland and the 
*' young ladies, their' sand 

" Your affectionate friend 

" Thomas Hussey.. 
" P. S. His Catholic majesty's orders are gone to Badajoz, 
*' the frontier tov n, not to examine your baggage — " 

Embarrassed by this letter, and doubtful of the part I ought 
to take, I obeyed my instructions by resorting to our miinister 
Mr. Walpole, and delivered to him a letter from Lord Hillsbor- 
ough, the contents of which I was privy to, and by w^hich I was 
directed to be confidential and explicit with him. As there 
was but one point, upon which he hesitated, and which I had 
good reason to know would not be made a stipulation obstruc- 
tive to my measin^es, I was disposed according to Mr. Hussey's 
advice to i^i-ve the negociation a trial, though his letter was by no 
means such as I exacted from him, nor so explicit as to give me 
a safe rule to go by. Neveilheless upon full consideration of 
all circumstances, and under the persuasion that delay, (which 
was the utmost that Mr. Walpole suggested) would in effect be 
tantamount to absolute abandonment, I determined for the 
journey, and gave my reasons for pursuing the advice of Mr. 
fluss' y, and meeting the advances of the Spanish minister, e» 
enipliiied by his preparations for receiving me, in the following 
dispatch, which I transmitted to Lord Hillsborough by Sir Wil- 
liam iJurnaby, then upon his departure for England — 

« To the Earl of Hillsborough:' 

'' My Lord, " Lisbon, June 61h, 1780. 

" In my letter No. 1. I informed your lordship of 
my arrival here on the 17th of last month at six in the after- 
noon, and of Mr. Hussey's departure for Aranjuez on the 19th 
following at eleven o'clock in the forenoon. I have now the 
honour of transmitting to you a letter, which I received yester- 
day morning by express fiom Aranjuez, addressed to your lord- 
ship, and I inclose one also, which I had from Mr. Hussey of 
the .'51st of last month by the same conveyance. 

" The letter of my instructions is explicit for my returning 
1o England, or advancing to Spain, as that court shall make or 
not make the cession of Gibraltar the basis of a negociation. 
'I'he simple resolution of this question formed the whole pur- 
port of Mr. Hussey's journey, and as I well know it was clear- 
ly understood on his part, I expected a reply in the same style 
of precision with these instructions : the case is now unexpect- 
edly become exceedingly embarrassing and delicate. As he 
does not say that Spain stipulates for the cession aforesaid ; I 
do not consider myself under orders to return ; on the other 
hand as he does not tell me that she will treat without it, I am 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 185 

doubtful whether I am wan-anted to advance. He says the min- 
ister /j very desirous of finding means of bringing things to a hap- 
py conclusion, and I have not only his authority, but good 
grounds from private information, to give credit to his asser- 
tion : I am also furnished with the necessary passports from the 
minister of Spain and from her ambassador at this court. It 
remains therefore a question with me, and a very difficult one I 
feel it, whether I should wait at Lisbon and require a fuilher 
explanation, or proceed without it. 

" If I take the first part of this alternative, I must expect it 
will create offence to the punctilio of the Spanish court who 
have given me their passport for myself and family, have not 
only provided me with every convenience of coaches and relays 
througli Spain, but have directed their ambassador here to give 
me every furtherance from hence, that can accommodate me 
to Badajoz, and I have this day received Count Fernan Nunez's 
passport with a letter of recommendation to the Marquis de 
Ustariz, intendant of Badajoz. By the terms, in which Count 
Florida Blanca has couched my passport, it is set forth that I 
am travelling through Spain tovvfards Italy for the establishment 
of my health : under this pretext it is in my power to take my 
route as a private traveller, and by no means deliver to the min- 
ister your lordship's letter until I have explicit satisfaction in 
the leading points of my instructions : should I find the court 
of Spain acquiescent under the-;e particulars, success will justi- 
fy a doubtful measure ; whereas if I withstand the invitation 
and advice of Mr. Hussey, sent no doubt with the privity of the 
minister, and expressive of his good wishes and desires for an 
accommodation, I shall throw every thing into heat and ferment, 
ruin all Mr. Hussey's inliuence, from which I have so much to 
expect, and at once blast all his operations, now in so fair a 
train for success, and which probably have been much advanced 
since Daly's departure. In short, my lord, I regard this dilem- 
ma as a case, in which personal caution points to one side, and 
public service to the other. In this light I view it, and al- 
though Mr. Hussey's letter to your lordship, (for it was under 
a Hying seal) is as silent on the same material point, as that to 
me is, I have after full deliberation thought it for his majesty's 
sei-vice that I should no longer hesitate to pursue the advice of 
Mr. Hussey, but resolve to set out upon my journey for Spaio. 

" The high opinion I entertain of Mr. Hussey'* understand- 
ing weighs strongly with me for this measure, because I know 
he has intuition to penetrate chicanery, and discretion enough 
not to expose me to it ; and though he does not expressly say 
that there is no obstacle in my way, yet this I am persuaded 
must be his firm assurance and belief before he would commit 
me to the journey. The verbal message he has sent me by his 
servant Daly that all is cwell, is to me a very encouraging cir- 
cumstance, because it is a concerted token and pass-word be- 
Q2 



J 86 MEMOIRS OF 

tween us, agreed upon when we were together in the frigate. 
The underlined expressions in the memorandum for my jour- 
ney have not escaped my observation, and I inclose you the 
original for your inspection : he says, I am impatient to tell you 
a tholIs^nd things, ^vbich I do not 'write. This marks to me an 
embairassment and reserve in his letter, which probably arose 
from the necessity of his communicating it to the sub-minister 
Campo, or to the minister himself. The letters to your lord- 
ship and me were conched nearly in the same words, and these 
so much out of his style of expression ^ that they seem either 
shaped to meet another man's thoughts, or to be of another 
man's dictating. He tells me in the same memorandum, that 
at Aranjuez every thing else, as well as his heart, will be ready 
to receive me : these expressions from Mr. Hussey I know to 
be no trivial indications of his thoughts, and though I am sensi- 
ble my dufy instructs me to take clearer lights for my guidance 
than nide-way hints and insinuations can bupply, yet such cir- 
cumstances may come as aids, though not as principals, in the 
formation of an opinion. 

" I think it material to add that I have reason to believe the 
dispatch, which the Spanish ambassador received from the min- 
iater by the hands of Daly, Mr. Hus^ey's servant, is expressive 
of the same disposition to a separate accommodation with Great- 
Britain, and accords with what is stated by Mr. Hussey in his 
letter to your lordship. 

" Through the same intelligence I have discovered the channel, 
by which the propositions fabricated in this place were conveyed 
to the Spanish minister, and am to the bottom made acquainted 
with that whole intrigue. I can only by this opportunity ihfonu 
your lordship, that it is a discovery of much importance to me in 
my future proceedings, gives me power over, and possession of, 
an agent in tru'^t and confidence with the minister of Spain, as 
well as with the ambassador here, and that the deductions I draw 
from it strongly operate to incline my judgment to the. resolu- 
tion I have now taken of entering Spain. 

" I have the honour, &c. &c. R. C." 

Having hired carriages and provided myself with things neces- 
sary for my jonrney to Badajoz, I wrote on the next morning 
the following letter to the Secretaiy of State, separate and dis- 
tinct from the dispatch, inserted as above 

" To the Earl of Hillsborotigh" 

" Lisbon, June 7th, 1780. 

" My Lord, Wednesday morning 5 o'clock. 

" I am sensible I have taken a step, which exposes 

me to censure upon failure of success, unless the reasons, on 

which I have acted, shall be weighed with candour and even 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 187 

with indulgence. In the decision, I have taken for entering 
Spain, I have had no other object but to keep alive a negocia- 
tion, to which any backwardness or evasion on my pait in the 
present crisis would I am persuaded be immediate extinction. 
I know where my danger lies, but as my endeavours for the pub- 
lic service and the honour of your administration are sincere, I 
have no doubt but I shall obtain your protection. 
. " Though I dare not re^t my public argument so much on 
private opinion as I am disposed to confess to you, yet you will 
plainly see how far I am swayed by my confidence in Mr. Hus» 
sey, and this will be the more evident when I must fairly own 
that Mr. Walpole's opinion is not with me for my immediate 
journey into Spain : I owe this justice to him, that, if I fail, it 
may be known he is free from all participation in my error. I 
have delivered your letter, and in general opened the business to 
him as I was directed to do, but I have disclosed to him no oth- 
er instruction, except that, on which Mr. Hussey's errand turns. 
He appears to me totally to discredit the sincerity of Spain to- 
wards any accommodation with Great -Britain, and this opinion 
certainly coloured his whole argument upon the subject : had 
we agreed in this principal position, it is not likely we should 
have differed in deductions from it. 

" I have written to Mr. Husscy, and beg leave to send you a 
copy of my letter. I had fully purposed, in conformity to what 
I said to your lordship, that my family should not accompany 
me upon my journey, but the nature of the passport and the 
circumstances that have arisen, make it indispensable for me to 
take them with me, not only as an excuse for my delay upon the 
road till Mr. Hussey shall meet me, but also as a cover for my 
pretence of health, should I find it necessary to pass through 
Spain without an explanation with the minister, &c. &c. 

R. C." 

At three o'clock in the afternoon of the 8th instant, I took my 
departure from Lisbon, embarking in one of the queen's barges 
for Aldea Gallegn, whilst my wife and daughters accompanied 
me in the Milford's cutter with the first lieutenant and master. 

The passage to Aldea Gallega is about nine miles up the riv- 
er, which here forms a magnificent sheet of water. At the 
wretched Posada in this place we had our first sample of that 
dirt and loathsomeness, which admit of no description, and 
which every baiting place throughout Portugal and Spain with 
little variation presented to us. Men may endure such scenes j 
to women of delicacy they are, and must be nauseous in the 
extreme. The policy of these courts agrees in prohibiting the 
publican from furnishing any thing to the traveller but firing ; 
provisions must be purchased by the way, and the kid, whose 
carcass has dangled on your carriage in the sun and dust, half 
fried by the one, and more than half basted by the other, mu^t 



188 MEMOIRS OF 

be roasted for your meal by the faggot, that you purchase of 
your host, which in the meanwhile if you do not manfully de- 
fend, the muleteer and way-faring carrier will take a share of, 
and incense your poor camon kid with the execrable fumes of 
his rank mess of oil and garlick. This rarely fails to stir up 
strife and fierce contention, which the host takes little or no 
pains to allay, sometiiiies ferments, till, if your people cannot 
drive off the intelopers with a high hand, you call in the peace- 
officer of the village or town to adjuot your rights, which he is 
in no haste to do till you quicken his tardy sense of justice with 
a portion of your roast meat. I was once driven to this 
reference, when my people were out-numbered, and then my 
defender gave me gravely to understand that his spouse was ex- 
tremely partial to cold turkey, that alluring object having been 
incautiously exposed to his eager ken. I tried if he would com- 
pound for a leg, but his spouse had a decided preference for 
the wing, and nothing short of half could move him to give 
sentence for my right. I had purchased at Lisbon two grey 
mules for the saddle at a high price ; they were beautiful crea- 
tures, very fast trotters and perfectly sure-footed, so that I 
rode occasionally and could make short excursions, when there 
was any thing better than a dreary wilderness to tempt me out 
of the road. 

On the 9th at three o'clock in the morning, Captain Payne 
arrived, having been all night on the water ; we breakfasted, 
and having ftken leave of our friends, departed from Aldea 
Gallega, our road lying over a sandy country, interspersed 
however with the olive and cork tree, and almost covered with 
myrtle bushes in full bloom. We passed by Vendas Novas, an 
unfurnished palace of the Queen's, and put up our beds for the 
night at a lone house near Silveira. On the 10th we passed 
Montemor, situated on a beautiful eminence, and further on 
Arrayolas, where there are the remains of a stately castle of 
Moorish construction, as it should seem, and concluded our 
day's journey at a lone house, called Venda do Duque. On 
the 11th, passing through Estremos we came to Elvas, the 
frontier town of Portugal, within sight of Badajoz in the plain 
at three leagues distance. The works erected by Count la 
Lippe on the hill, which commands the tov/n, and the fortifica- 
tions of the town itself seemed very extensive and in perfect re- 
pair, and the troops well accoutred and in good order, but the 
more striking sight to me was that of the aqueduct : it is raised 
on four lofty arches of stone one over the other, and enters the 
town in a very grand style. The suburbs are finely planted 
and laid out into walks by Count la Lippe, the projector, to 
whom Elvas is indebted for those public works, that constitute 
at once both her ornament and her defence. As our minister at 
Lisbon had not furnished me with any letter to the governor of 
Elvas, I was not only put to trouble about my baggage, but 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 189 

evidently became an object of suspicion. The former of these 
difficulties I got over by a bribe, but the latter subjected me to 
restraint, for upon attempting to walk out of my inn I found a 
guard of soldiers with fixed bayonets at the gate, who prevent- 
ed me from stirring out, and mounted on me through the re- 
mainder of the day and the whole night, which I passed there. 
The next morning, W'hilst my carriages were in waiting for me, 
an Irish bcnedictine walked into my room, and in a very au- 
thoritative and unceremonious style insisted on my staying 
there all day, and even was proceeding to countermand my car- 
riages. He believed, or pretended to believe, that I was an 
American agent or negociator, travelling into Spain, and began 
to inveigh most virulently against the king and country, of 
which he was a subject born : if he was employed to sound me 
(which is not improbable) he executed his office very clumsily, 
yet his insolsnt importunity was a considerable interruption and 
extremely troublesome. His language in the mean time was in- 
tolerably oifensive, and his action worse, for as I reached out 
my hand to take my pistols from the table, the saucy fellow 
caught at them, with an action so suspicious, that I was oblig- 
ed to put him from me, and sending my ladies out of the room 
before me to the carriages, got in last myself and ordered the 
postillions to proceed. The pertinacious monk still continued 
to oppose my going, and even vented his anathemas on the 
drivers, if they presumed to move. When I saw at the same 
time that there was a party of dragoons mounted and parading 
at the gate with drawn swords before the heads of my mules, I 
doubted whether they were in fact an escort of honour or ar- 
rest, but in a few minutes my leading cairiage moved, and thus 
guarded I passed the barriers, whilst the monk, keeping his 
hand upon my carriage, and vociferating without intermission, 
never left me till we had passed through all the out-posts, and 
fairly entered the plain in sight of Badajoz. 

It was not pleasant, and I did not think that the proper pre- 
cautions had been taken for me. When I had got rid of my 
monk, (the guard having taken no notice of his insolent be- 
haviour) in about a league and a half's driving a foot's pace we 
came to a small stream, which divides the territories of Portu- 
gal from Spain. Here we watered the mules, whilst on the op- 
posite bank I perceived a party of Spanish infantry waiting as 
it seemed to receive and escort me. My Portuguese dragoons 
in perfect silence wheeled about and departed, and no sooner had 
I touched the Spanish soil than the party presented arms, and 
a messenger in the livery of the king with his badge of office 
on his sleeve, signified to me that coaches were in waiting for 
me at Badajoz, and that he had his Catholic majesty's com- 
mands to attend upon me through my journey. During this, 
my Portuguese postillions, finding themselves in my power, 
and apprehending no doubt that their hesitation in obeying rae 



190 MEMOIRS OF 

against the denunciations of the aforesaid benedictine, might 
justly have offended me, fell on their knees in the most abject 
manner, kissing the skirts of my coat and imploring pardon and 
forgiveness. Having ordered them to mount and proceed, we 
soon reached Badajoz, and were received into the garrison with 
all the honours they could shew us. As a town Badajoz has 
nothing to engage the traveller, and as a fortified place stands 
in no degree of comparison with Elvas. The troops, being 
mostly invalids, made a very indifferent appearance, but the 
windows and balconies were thronged with spectators, who 
bestowed every mark of favour and good will upon us as we 
passed the streets. 

Here I found a coach and six mules in waiting, and after 
some stay set forward at midnight, the gates being opened for 
me, and a guard turned out by order of the governor, and we 
proceeded to Miajada, where a fresh relay was in readiness. 
The province of Estremadura is miserably barren, producing 
nothing to relieve the eye but cork trees thinly scattered, and 
here and there a few distorted olive trees. The like disconso- 
late aspect of a country, where neither cattle nor habitations 
were to be seen, prevailed through the whole of our next stage 
to Truxillo, where we halted on the night of the l4th 
instant. 

In this stage we were warned by our attendant messenger to 
be upon our guard against robbers, and in truth the countiy 
furnished most appropriate scenes and inviting opportunities for 
such adventurers. I had three English servants and two men 
hired in Lisbon, besides the messenger above-mentioned, and 
myself and my English servants in particular were excellently 
armed and ammunitioned. My Englishmen consisted of Mr. 
Hussey's man Daly, a London hair-dresser of the name of 
Legge, whom I took for the convenience of my wife and daugh- 
ters, and my own faithful servant Thomas Camis, of tried 
courage and attachment, who had lived with me from the age 
of ten years. In the middle of the night, when we were in the 
depth of the forest, or rather wilderness, the Spaniard rode up 
to my coach window, and telling me we were then in the most 
suspicious part of our road, recommended it to me to collect my 
people about me and keep them together. Daly indeed was 
not far behind, but in a state of absolute intoxication and sleep- 
ing on his mule : my hair-dresser pretty much in the same state, 
but totally disabled from excess of cowardice, of which he had 
given some unequivocal and most ridiculous tokens before and 
during our action in the frigate ; I had not much reliance on 
my Portuguese, one of whom was a black-fellow, and in the 
mean time my brave and trusty servant Camis was not to be 
found, nor did he answer to any call. Distressed with appre- 
hension lest some fatal accident had befallen this most valuable 
man, I got out of my coach determined not to move from the 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 191 

spot without him, and sent the Spanish messenger and two 
other men in search of him.- During their absence I heard a 
tramph'ng of horses, and soon discovered through the dusk of 
night two men armed with guns, which they carried under the 
thigh, who rode smartly up to the carriage and proved to be 
archers on the patrole. This confirmed the report that the 
road was infested by robbers, and whilst this was passing I had 
the satisfaction to be joined by my servant Thomas Camis on 
foot, his mule having sunk under him, exhausted with fatigue. 
He now mounted behind the coach, and the men dispatched in 
search for him having come in, we pursued our route and arriv- 
ed in safety at Truxillo. 

From Truxillo we passed a very rugged and mountainous 
tract of country to Ventadel Lugar Nuevo on the banks of the 
Tagus. This is a very romantic station, and the bridge a curi- 
ous and most striking object passing from one rock to another 
upon two very lofty Roman arches, the river flowing under- 
neath at a prodigious depth. 

On the 1 6th we passed through La Calzada to Talavera la 
Reina, a town in New Castile of considerable population and 
extent. A silk fabric is here established under the king's espe- 
cial patronage. Here the following letter from Mr. Hussey 
met me 



" From Mr. Hussey to m^P 

**Aranjuez, Wednesday morning, 
14th June 1780. 
" My dearest friend, 

" How could you suspect that I would send for you 
" if I found the obstacle in my way, which makes you so un- 
" easy ? But it was always my intention to go part of the way 
" from Aranjuez to meet you, to indulge my affection by per- 
" sonally attending you and your family as soon as possible ; 
" but as you do not mention what delay you intended to make 
" in Badajoz, I cannot precisely guess- the day of your arrival 
" here, and therefore I dispatch this letter to meet you at Tal- 
" avera la Reina, that I may know it more exactly, which will 
" be by returning a line to me, informing me of the day, and 
" whether you think it will be in the morning or evening. As 
" the distance between Talavera and Aranjuez is too great for 
" one day's journey with the same mules, I have ordered a fresh 
" set to be posted for you seven leagues from this place at La 
«' Venta de Olias, two leagues and a half ft'om that part of the 
" Tagus called Las Barcas de Azecar, where you cross the wa- 
" ter, and probably you will meet me ; otherwise you will come 
" on and meet me on the road. This fresh set of mules was ab- 
" solutely necessary, because you could find no place to sleep 



192 MEMOIRS OF 

" in between Talavera and Aranuiez. You do not come 
" through Toledo. I long to embrace you and my amiable 
'" friends, and open my mind to your satisfaction, as well as 
" my pleasure. 

" Adieu ! " T. H." 

To this letter I answered as follows — 

" To Mr. Hujjej." 

" Talavera la Reina, Friday 16th 
" June half-past 5 evening. 

♦' My dearest friend, 

" Your consolatory 1 etter meets me at the end of a long 
" and laborious journey, and like a magical charm puts all my 
*' cares to rest at once. Say not however hoiv could I suspect — 
" Had that been the case, how could I advance ? Yet I am come 
*' at every j:i;sque upon the reliance, which I am fixed to repose 
" in your honour and friendship upon all Decisions. 

" 1 have entered on an arduouh service without any condi- 
" tions, and I fear without securing to myself that sure sup- 
" port, which they, by v.hom and for whom I am employed, 
" ought to hold forth to me ; bur you know full well who is, 
•' a)id ivbo is ?iot, my corresponding minister, and if success 
•< does not bear me through in thi;. step, which I have taken, 
" my good intentions will not sta:id me in much stead. Still, 
*' when I saw that my reluctance would atTect your situation, 
" dash every measure you have laid, and annihilaVe all chance of 
" rendering service to rny country in this trying crisis, I did not 
*' hesitate to risque this journey, even against the advice of 
«' Mr. W. 

" We are not long since airived after a most sultry s^age, 
*< and have been travelling all night without a halt. I dare not 
" but give Mrs. Cumberkuid an hour or two's repose, and shall 
" not take my departure from hence till midnight. I shall stop 
" at La Venta de Olias to relieve my party from a few Iiot 
" hours, and shall be there to-morrov^' niorning about ten or 
•' eleven. I shall set out fi'om thence at seven o'clock in 
*' the evening at latest, and reach the feny at Las Barcas de 
*' Azecar at nine that evening — There if we meet, or whenever 
" else more convenient to yourself, it will I trust in God be rf- 
♦' membered as one of the happy moments, that here and there 
*' have sparingly chequered the past life of your 

" Affectionate R. C* 

From Talavera on the 17th instant wc came to the little vil- 
lage of Olias about half-way, where we took the necessary re- 
lief of rest, and as'the weather was now intolerably hot, my 
wife and daughters being almost exhausted with fatigue, we 
laid by for the whole of the day. Here the Alcayde of the 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 193 

village very hospitabljj sent me refreshments, and called on me 
at my inn, offering his house, and whatever it afforded. I re- 
turned his visit, and found the good old man surrounded by his 
children and grand-children, a numerous family, grouped in 
their degrees, and sitting in their best apartment ready to re- 
ceive me. After chocolate had been served the guitar w^as in- 
troduced, and the younger parties danced their sequedillas. 
When they had animated themselves with this dance, the play- 
er on the guitar began to sound the notes of the fandango : I 
had seated myself by the old grandfather, a feeble nerveless 
creature, and observed with some concern a paralytic motion 
vibrating in all his limbs and muscles, when at once unable to 
keep his seat he started up in a kind of ecstasy, and began 
snapping his fingers like castanets and dancing the fandango to 
my surprise and amusement. This was the first time I had 
seen it perfonned, and I ceased to wonder at the extravagant 
attachment which the Spaniards show for that national tune 
and dance. 

On Sunday the 18th of June, at five o'clock in the morning, 
we arrived at Aranjuez, and were most affectionately welcomed 
by Mr. Hussey. He delivered a paper to me dictated l)y the 
minister, and first appearances argued favourably for my nego- 
ciation. The day following I was visited by the sub-minister 
Campo, Anduaga and Escarano, (belonging to the minister's de- 
partment,) also by the Due d'Almodovar, Abbe Curtis and 
others, and in the evening of that day I had my first interview 
with the Count Florida Blanca. 

I shall not enter upon local descriptions ; it is neither to my 
purpose, nor can it edify the reader, who will find all this done 
so much better by writers who have travelled into Spain, and 
been more at leisure for looking about them than I ever was. 
My thoughts were soon distressfully occupied by the account, 
which met me, of the riots and disturbances in London by 
what was called Lord George Gordon's mob, which all but 
quite extinguished my hopes of success in the very outset of my 
business. I had repeated interviews with the minister, whom I 
visited by night, ushered by his confidential valet through a 
suite of live rooms, the door of every one of which was constant- 
ly locked as soon as I had- passed it. The description of those 
dreadful tumults was given to the Spanish court by their am- 
bassador at Paris, Count d'Aranda, and faithfully given without 
exaggeration. The effjct it had upon the King of Spain was 
great indeed, and for me most unfortunate, for I had no advices 
from my court to qualify or oppose it. How this intelligence 
operated on the mind of his Catholic Majesty can only be con- 
ceived by such as were acquainted with his character, and know 
to what degree he remained affected by the insurrection, then 
not long passed, in his own capital of Madrid. I will only say 
that my treaty was in shape, and such as my instructions would 
R 



>94 MEMOIRS OF 

have wairanted me to transmit and recommend. Spain had 
received a recent check from Admiral Rodney, Gibralter had 
been relieved with a high hand, she was also upon very delicate 
and dubious terms with France. The crisis was decidedly in 
my favour ; my reception flattering in the extreme ; the Spanish 
nation was anxious for peace, and both court, ecclesiastics and 
military professedly anti-gallican. The minister did not lose 
an hour after my arrival, but with much apparent alacrity in the 
cause immediately proceeded to business. I never had any rea- 
son upon reflection to doubt the sincerity of Count Florida 
Blanca at this moment, and verily believe we should have ad- 
vanced the business of the preliminaries, if the fatal news of the 
riots had not most critically come to hand that very day, on 
which by the minister's own appointment w^e were to meet for 
fair discussion of the terms, while nothing seemed to threaten 
serious difficulty or disagreement between us. 

According to appointment I came to him, perfectly ignorant 
of what had come to pass in my own country : I liad prepared 
myself to the best of my capacity for a meeting and discussion 
which it behoved me to manage with discretion and address, 
and which according to my view of it promised to crown my 
mission with success. We were to write, and Campo w^as to 
be present, so that when I entered the minister's inner cham- 
ber, and saw only a small table with a single candle, no Campo 
present and no materials for writing, I own my mind misgave 
m.e : I did not wait more than two minutes before Florida Blan- 
ca came out of his closet, and in a lamentable tone sung out the 
downfall of London ; king, ministers and government whelmed 
in ruin, the rebellion of America transplanted to England, and 
heartily as he condoled with me, how could he under such cir- 
cumstances commit his court to treat with me ? I did not take 
the whole for truth, and was too much on my guard to betray 
any astonishment or alarm, but left him to lament the unhappy 
state of my wretched country, and atiected to treat the narra- 
tive as a French exaggeration of the transitory tumults of a Lon- 
don mob. In the mean time I could not fail to see, that noth- 
ing was to be done en my part, but to yield to the moment and 
wail for information, upon which I might rely. All that I did 
in the inttnim was to address a letter to the minister, and confi- 
dently risque a prediction that the tumult would be quashed so 
speedily and completely, as to add dignity to the king's govern- 
ment and . stability to his mmisters. He gave for answer that 
both hisi Caiholic Majesty and himself trembled for the king, 
but of the exiermination of the ministry no question could be 
made. I renewed my assertions in terms more confident than 
before, not so much upon conviction as from desperation, well 
knowing that, if I was ur.done by the event, it was of little im- 
portance that I was disgraced by my over-confidence and pre- 
sumption. 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 195 

In the aourse of a vgry few days my prediction was happily 
verified, for on the 24th I was informed by Escarano, that the 
rioters were quelled, Lord George Gordon committed to the 
Tower, and indemnification ordered to the sufferers in the tu- 
mult, and on the day following the minister sent me the letter 
he had received from Count d'Aranda to explain why he had 
delayed to inform me of the news fiom London. I availed 
myself of this happy change by every means in my pow^r for 
bringing back the negociation to that state of forwardness, in 
which it stood before it was interrupted, but the minds and un- 
derstandings of those, with whom I had to deal, were not easy 
to be cured of alarms once given, or prejudices once received. 
It is not necessary for me to discuss the characters, with whom 
it was my lot to treat, it is enough to say that during more than 
a year's abode in Spain, I believe no moment occurred so fa- 
vourable to the business I had in hand, as that of which ill- 
fortune had deprived me in the very outset of my undertaking. 
There was a gloomy being, out of sight and inaccessible, whose 
command as Confessor over the royal mind was absolute, and 
whose bigotry was disposed to represent every thing in the 
darkest colours against a nation of heretics, whose late enor- 
mities afforded too good a subject for his spleen to descant up- 
on ; and in the mind, where no illumination, no elasticity re- 
sides, impressions will strike strongly and sink deep. 

On the 26ih I had completed my dispatches, in which I gave 
a full and circumstantial detail of my pr jce-!di:'!g, the hopesi 
had entertained and the interruption 1 had m^-t with, the conferen- 
ces and correspondencies I had held with the minister, and the 
measures I had pursued for reviving the negociation, and recon- 
ducting it according to the tenour of my instructions. In this 
dispatch I observe to the Secretary of State, " That although I 
** relied upon his lordship's kind interpretation of my motives 
*' for leaving Lisbon, yet it was no inconsiderable anxiety that 
*' I suffered till my doubts were satisfied upon the points which 
" Mr. Husscy's letter had not sufficiently explained. As it ap- 
" peared to me a case, where I might use my discretion, and 
*' in which the inconveniencies incidental to my dissappoint- 
" ment bore no proportion to the good, that might result from 
»' my success, I decided for the journey, which I had nowper- 
" formed, and flattered myself his lordship would see no cause 
«' to regret the step I hail t iken." — 

" Had I not made ready use of my passports and relays, I 
*• had good reason to believe my hesitation would have proved 
" decisive against any treaty ; whereas now I had the satisfac- 
*' tion of seeing many things point to a favourable and friendly 
« issue."— 

Speaking of a probability of detaching Spain antecedent to 
the news of the disturbances in London, I tell the Secretary of 
State— " That the moment for detaching- Spain is now peculiar- 



196 MEMOIRS OF 

" ly favourable : she is upon the worst terms with France ; not 
" only the King of Naples, but the Queen of Portugal have 
" written pressingly to his Catholic Majesty to make peace 
" with England, and since my arrival a further influence is set 
<' to work to aid the friends of peace, and this is the Due de 
" Losada, who on behalf of his nephew the Due d'Almodovar 
" has actually solicited the embassy to England, and been fa- 
'< vourbly received. These and many other circumstances 
" conspire to press the scale for peace ; in the opposite one we 
" may place their imretrieved disgrace in the relief of Gibral- 
" ter, their hopes in the grand armament from Cadiz of the 28th 
" of April, their over-rated successes in West Florida, and their 
" belief that your expiditions to the South-American continent 
" are dropt, and that Sir Edward Hughes's condition disables 
" him from attempting any enterprise against the Manillas — " 
J then recite the circumstance that gave a check to my negocia- 
tion, state the measures I had since taken for resuming it, and 
transmit a summary of such points in requisition as require an- 
swerrt and instructions, and conclude with suggesting such a 
mode of accommodating these to the punctilio of the Spanish 
court, as in my opinion cannot fail to bring the treaty to a suc- 
cessful issue — '< If this is conveyed," (I observe) " in mild and 
" friendly terms towards Spain, who submits the mode to the 
" free discretion of Great Britain, and recjuests it only as a 
" salvo, I think I have strong grounds to say her family com- 
*' pact will no longer hold her from a separate peace with 
" Great Britain—" 

On the 27th I removed with my family to Madrid, where I 
took a commodious hetse in an airy situation, and on the 1st 
of July the king and royal family arrived from Aranjuez. 
Though I had frequent communications with Count Florida 
Blanca through the sub-minister Campo, which occasioned me 
to dispatch letters on the 6th instant, yet I had no appointed 
interivew till the 15th ; our treaty paused for the expected an- 
sv/ei to ray transmission before mentioned, and it was clear to 
me. that the Spanish minister, under the pretence of sounding 
the sincerity of the British cabinet, was in effect manoeuvring 
upon the suspicion of their stability. Nevertheless in this con- 
versation, which he held on the 1 5th instant, he expressly de- 
clares, " That if Great Britain sends back any answer, which 
'< shall be couched in mild and moderate terms towards Spain, 
•' he will then proceed upon the treaty with all possible good 
*' will, and give me his ideas without reserve, endeavouring to 
" adjust some expedient satisfactory to both parties } but he 
" fears that our ministry is so constituted as to deceive my 
" hopes in the temper and quality of their reply — " 

During this interval, whilst I remained without an answer to 
my dispatch, the court removed to San Ildefonso, where Count 
D'Estaing arrived, specially commissioned to ti'averse my nc- 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 1J>" 

gociation, and detach the Spanish court fi-om their projected 
treaty with Great Britain. France in the mean time sacn.'iccd 
her whole naval campaign in the harbour of Cadiz, where a 
combined force of sixty line of battle ships w,is assemliled, 
whilst the British fleet under the successive commands of Geary 
.and Derby did worse than nothing, and the capture of our 
great East and West-Indian convoy by the Spanish squadron 
completed their triumph and our discomfiture. 

A mind so fluctuating and feeble as that of the Spanish min- 
ister was not formed to preserve equanimity in success, or to 
persist in its resolutions against the counter- iction of opinions. 
He v/as at this period absolutely intoxicated not only by the 
capture of our trading ships, but by the alluring promises of 
D'Estaing, and surrendered himself to the self-interested coun- 
cils of Galvez, minister of the Indies,' for the continuance of 
the war. That minister, (the creature of France to all intents 
and purposes) had hke himself been raised to high office from 
the humble occupation of a petty advocate, and by early habits 
of intimacy, as likewise by superiority of intellect, acquired a 
power over his understanding little short of absolute ascen- 
dancy. 

Through the influence of this man and by the intrigues of 
Count D'Estaing my situation at thi> period became as critical 
as possible ; my house was beset with spies, who made report 
of every thing they could collect or impute ; I was proscribed 
from all my accustomed friends and visitors, whilst no one 
ventured publicly to enter my doors but the empress's ambas- 
sador Count Kaunitz, whom no circumstances ever separated 
from me, and a few religious, whose visits to me were more 
than suspicious. The most insidious means were practised to 
break Mr. Hussey from me, but though they had their effect 
for a short time, his good sense soon discovered the contrivance 
and prevented its effects. 

Finding my&elf thus beset, I attached to my service certain 
confidential agents, who were extremely useful to me, and 
amongst these a gentleman in the employ of one of the north- 
ern courts, the ablest in that capacity, and of the most con* 
summatc address, I ever became acquainted with ; by his 
means I possessed myself of authentic papers and documents, 
and was enabled to expose and effectually to traverse some ve- 
ry insidious and highly important mancEUvres much to my 
own credit and to the satisfaction of the cabinet, before whom 
they were laid by my corresponding minister. 

I now received the long expecied answ^er to my first dis- 
patch. It served little more than to cover a letter to Count 
Florida Blanca, and that letter found him now in the hands of 
D'Estaing, and more than half persuaded that the co-operation 
of France would put him in possession of Gibralter, that cov- 
eted fortress, which I would not suffer him even to name, and. 
R 2 



19S MEMOIRS OF 

for wliich Spain would almost have laid the map of her islands, 
and the keys of her treasury at my feet. I must confess this 
letter, which I had looked to with such hope, was more suited 
to gratify his purposes tlian mine, for if quibble and evasion 
were what he wished to avail himself of at this moment, he 
certainly found no want of opportunity for the accompUshment 
of his wish. 

But if the enclosed letter was not altogether what I hoped for, 
the covering letter was most decidedly what I had not deserv- 
ed, for it conveyed a more than half implied reproof for my having 
written to the Spanish Minister on the matter of the riots, and 
at the same time acknowledges that my paper <was cautiously 
'worded, and that I had most certainly succeeded in my argument — 
Why I was not to write to the minister, who had first written 
to me, especially when I wrote so cautiously and argued so 
successfully, I could never comprehend. When I was sur- 
prised by very alarming and unpleasant piece of intelligence, 
conveyed to my knowledge through the channel of my coun- 
try's enemy, not of my country's minister, what could I do more 
conformable to my duty than attempt to soften the impressions 
it had created ? I had not been five minutes arrived before the 
minister's letter and proposals were put into my hands. What 
<ould occur to me so natural both in policy and politeness as 
to write to him, especially on a subject so deeply intei-esting, so 
imperiously demandiug of me an appeal, that to have sunk un- 
der it in silence would have been disgraceful in the extreme ? 

In the same letter I am reminded — That I 'was instructed 
not even to converse upon any particular proposition, until Invas 
satisfied of the 'zvillingness of the Court of Spain to treat at all — 
Of this willingness his lordship professes to doubt, and grounds 
that doubt upon what he gathers from my report of the change, 
which seemed to have been wrought in the disposition of the 
minister by the intelligence of the disturbances in London ; 
wliereas the conversation, which he alludes to, was held before 
that intelligence arrived, when the willingness to treat was put 
out of all doubt by the very progress made in that treaty, and 
which was only not compleated by the check which that intel- 
ligence gave to it. If when the premier of Spain assured him- 
self of the total overthrow of our ministry he hesitated to pro- 
ceed in treating with the agent of that ministry, it is nothing 
wonderful ; but it would have been wonderful, if when I had 
such proofs of his ^willingness, I had not been satisfied with 
them, because something totally unforeseen might come to pass 
to thwart the business we were then engaged in. By parity of 
reason I might as well have been made responsible for the riots 
themselves, as for the consequences that resulted from them. 
It is a pity that his lordship did not advert to the order of time 
laid down in my dispatch, by which he could not have failed to 
discover, that in one part of it I was reporting conversation 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 199 

held when all was well, and in the other •part remarking upon 
embairassments naturally produced by unforeseen events of 
the most alarming nature. 

That I had been careful enough to have satisfactory proofs of 
a ivillingnesi to treat before I committed myself to conversation 
is sufficiently clear from the circum, lance above mentioned of 
the overtures presented to me in the very instant of my arrival, 
before I had seen the minister, or he had seen my letter of ac- 
creditation. JVilUngness more unequivocal hardly can be con- 
ceived, and when I did present that letter upon my first inter- 
view I reported to my secretary of state the sum total of my 
conversation, which consisting only of the following words, 
copied verbatim from the transcript of my letter to Lord Hills- 
borough, could not much edify his excellency, or divulge any se- 
crets I was instructed to be reserved upon. I tell his lordship in 
my letter of the 26th of June 1 780, — " That after the first civ- 
ilities, I put into the minister's handi. his lordship's letter, 
which I desired he would consider as conveying in the language 
of sincerity the mind of a most just and upright king, who in 
his love of peace rejoices to meet similar sentiments in the 
breast of his Catholic majesty, and who has been graciously 
pleased to send me to confer with his excellency, not from my 
experience in negociation, but as one confidential to the busi- 
ness in all its stages, and zealously devoted to conduct it to an 
issue — " I proceed to say — That " as this visit passed wholly in 
expressions of civility, I shall observe no further to your lord- 
ship upon it, than that I was perfectly well pleased with my 
reception." 

If in any one part of my conduct or conversation I had ad- 
vanced a step beyond the line of my instructions, or varied from 
them in a single instance, I should not have sought to shelter 
myself under the peculiar difficulties of my situation, I must 
have met the reproof I merited, and was certain to receive ; 
but when I was arraigned for giving credit to sincerity, when it 
did exist, and being doubtful of it, when it wavered, as I was 
not conscious of an error, I was not moved by a reproof ; but 
without entering into any argumentation, unprofitable and ex- 
traneous, applied my utmost diligence to the business I was up- 
on, and continued to dictate to Mr. Hussey my dispatches for 
England, when I was disabled from writing them by a fractur- 
ed arm. 

The instant I was able to endure the motion of my coach, I 
attended upon the minister Florida Blanca at San Ildefonso ; 
D'Estaing was there, in high favour and much caressed ; Hus- 
sey was not permitted to accompany. me ; I was alone, and 
closely watched. It was the most unfavourable moment that I 
passed during my whole residence in Spain. Florida Blanca, 
instead of taking up his negociation where he left it, gave little 
credit or attention to the letter of Lord Hillsborough, but eva- 



i99 MEMOIRS OF 

sively adverted to certain propositions which he had made be- 
fore I came into Spain and transmitted through the hands of 
Mr. Hussey, to which propositions he observed our ministry 
had returned no answer — " I admitted that no answer had been 
given to the propositions he aiiuded to, because they were form- 
ed upon the suggestions of Commodore Johnstone at Lisbon 
without any authority : it was a matter I had in charge to disa- 
vow those overtures in the most direct terms ; they neither orig- 
inated with the cabinet, nor were ever before it ; but if he could 
stand in need of any proof to satisfy his doubts as to the dis- 
position of my court towards peace, I desired him to recollect 
that I had been sent into Spain for that express purpose, with- 
out any interchange on his ptut, and against the formal practice 
of states in actual war. — " He acknowledged that my observa- 
tion was fair, and that he admitted it, but he again reverted to 
Commodore Johnstone, observing " That although he might 
take on himself to make unauthorised propositions (which by 
the way he must think was strange presumption, and still more 
strange that it was passed over with impunity) yet he said that 
he answered with authority ; his propositions had the sanction 
of his court, and as such he hoped they merited an answer 
from mine." It was now clear to me, when he was driven to 
allude to these unaccreditated propositions, that evasion was 
his only object. 

" Did he now refer to them," I asked, " as the actual basis 
of a treaty ? — " 

He saw no reason to the contrary. 

*' They contained," I said, " an article for the cession of 
Gibralter." 

They did. 

♦' How then did such a stipulation accord with his word giv- 
en, that I should be subjected to no requisition on that point ?" 

He was now evidently emban-assed, and turning aside to the 
sub-minister Campo, held some conversation with him apart : 
he then resumed his discourse, but in a desultory way, and be- 
ing one of the most irritable men living, was so entirely off his 
guard as to let out nearly the whole of Count D'Estaing's in- 
trigue, and plainly intimated that Gibralter was an object, for 
which the king his master would break the Family-Pact and 
every other engagement with France, which he exemplified by 
stamping the very paper itself under his feet upon the marble 
floor ; when recollecting himself after awhile, and composing 
his countenance, that had been distorted with agitation, he said 
— " That if I would bind him to his word it must be so. 
However, if the article for Gibralter was inadmissible, what pre- 
vented our taking the remainingpropositionsintoconsideration ?" 

I told him, and with truth, that I had seen his propositions, 
but was not in possession of them. " Would he put them 
down afresh and join me in discussing them i" 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 201 

" The Abbe Hussey had his original, and he had taken no 

copy." * * 

As I recollected enough of these propositions to know my- 
self restrained from treating upon them, it occurred to me, as 
the only expedient left to keep the treaty alive, to consent to 
his sending them over by Mr. Hussey, who was now become 
heartily sick of his situation, and catching at every possible 
plea for his returning home. Still I was resolved that the pro- 
posal of sending over propositions of that sort by Mr. Hussey 
should not originate with me, though I was perfectly willing 
to acquiesce in it, as giving my ministers the chance of getting 
out of a war, which I thought good policy would rather have 
sought to narrow in its extent than to widen, and which ever 
since I had been in Spain presented nothing but a succession of 
disasters. 

This expedient of getting Mr. Hussey to be sent home by the 
minister with propositions, which, though upon a broader 
scale of treaty than my instructions allowed me to embrace, 
were yet in my opinion of them by no means inadmissible, ap- 
peared to me the best 1 could resort to in the present moment. 
With this idea in my thoughts I asked Count Florida Blanca if 
he knew the mind of France, and whether he was prepared 
with any overtures on her part, which could be transmitted. — I 
put this question experimentally for I had obtained pretty full 
informaiion of what D'Estaing had been about. 

He had by this time recovered his serenity, and with great 
deliberation made answer to me, as nearly as it can be rendered, 
(for he always spoke in his own mother-tongue) to this effect — 
" We have no overtures to make on the part of France ; France, 
as well as all the other courts, which have representatives here 
I'esident, has been very inquisitive touching your business in 
this place ; the only answer given on our part has been, that 
the Catholic King is an honourable monarch, and will faith- 
fully observe all his engagements ; on the faith of this single as- 
sertion the whole matter rests. If your court is sincere for 
peace, let her now set to work upon that business, which 
sooner or later must be the business of all parties. We will 
honestly and ardently second her endeavours ; we do not put 
her to any thing, which may revolt her dignity ; we acknowl- 
edge and conceive the degree of sensibility (call it if you please 
indignation) which she must harbour against a state in actual 
alliance with the rebel subjects of her empire ; let her act with 
that dignity, which is her due, constantly in sight ; but let her 
meet his Catholic Majesty in his disposition for finishing a war, 
which can only exhaust all parties ; and as she best knows what 
her own interests will admit, let her suggest such terms, as she 
would receive, was France the proponent, and let her couple 
them with terms for Spain, and if these be fair and reasonable 
rrruboth sides, and such as Spain in her particular can possibly 



202 MEMOIRS OF 

accede to, the Catholic King will close with her on his own be- 
half, and exert all his influence with his ally to make the peace 
general. This is an arduous and delicate business ; let us cor- 
dially unite our endeavours to bring it forward. I shall be at 
all times ready to confer with you freely and without disguise, 
,ind let no difference of opinion affect our personal good un- 
derstanding." 

The day following this conference Mr. Hussey arrived at 
San Ildefonso, and having communicated to him what had 
passed and my wish for his going to England with the minis- 
ter's propositions, he readily agreed to it, and before that day 
pasted the sub-minister Campo came to my house to sound me 
on this very expedient, managing as he conceived with great 
finesse to induce me to consent to what in fact I much desired, 
and expressing, as from the minister, his earnest hope that I 
would not quit Spain in the interim. Unpleasant as my situa- 
tion was now become, still I was unwilling to abandon the ne- 
gociation, as I knew that D'Estaing was on his depaiture for 
Cadiz, where I had good reason to believe he would lose his 
influence and forfeit his popularity. I then availed myself of 
his informers, and through their channel gave out what I knew 
would come to his ears, and induce him to think that my nego- 
ciation was totally desperate : accordingly I departed from San 
Ildefonso, leaving Mr. Hussey to settle propositions with the 
minister, and the day following my return to Madrid, D'Estaing 
set out for his command at Cadiz. Florida Blanca offered to 
communicate to me copies of what he transmitted by Mr. Hus- 
sey, but for obvious reasons I declined his offer. 

D'Estaing at Cadiz soon lost all the interest he had gained at 
Court. He put to sea with his fleet against the protest of the 
Spanish admiral, and with circumstances, that rendered him 
completely unpopular. The British fleet under admiral Darby 
was at sea in his track ; the French ships were in the worst 
condition imaginable, but our fleet did not avail itself of the 
opportunity for bringing them to action, and they reached their 
port without exchanging a shot. How justifiable this was on 
our part I will not doubt, how disappointing it was even to Spain, 
whose wishes had by this time turned about, and how deroga- 
tory in her opinion to the credit of our arms, I can truly witness. 

I had now manoeuvred the Abbe Hussey into a mission, the 
most acceptable to him that could be devised, as it took him 
out of Spain, and liberated him fi-om the necessity of acting a 
part, which he could not longer have sustained with any credit 
to himself ; for it was only whilst the treaty was in train with 
the sincere good will of Spain that he could be truly cordial in 
the cause : v.hen unforeseen events occurred to check and in- 
terrupt the progress of it, his sagacity did not fail to discover 
that he could no longer preserve a middle interest with both 
partiee, but must be hooked into a dilemma of choosing Uv. 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 203 

side ; which that would have been when duplicity must have 
been thrown oft', was a decision he did not wish to come to, 
though I perhaps can conjecture where it would have led him. 
He had no great prejudices for England ; Ireland was his native 
countrj', but even that and the whole world had been renounced 
by him, when he threw himself into the oblivious convent of 
La Tiappe, and was only dragged from out his cell by force and 
the emancipating authority of the Pope himself. Whilst he 
was here digging his own grave, and consigning himself to per- 
petual taciturnity, he was a very young man, high in blood, of 
athletic strength, and built as if to see a century to its end. It 
was not the enthusiasm of devotion, no holy raptures, that in- 
spired him with this desperate reaolulion : it was the splenetic 
eifect of disappointed passion ; and such was the change, wliich 
a snort time had wrought in him, that father Robinson, the 
worthy priest, with whom he afterwards cohabited, told ine, 
that wiien he attended the order for his deliverance, he could 
hardly ascertain his perbon, especially as he persisted to assev- 
erate in the strongest terms that he was not the man they 
were in search of. 

When he came forth again into the world with passions, rath- 
er suspended than subdued, I am inclined to think he consider- 
ed h'unself as forced upon a scene of action, where he was to 
f)lay Lis part with as much finesse and dissimulation as suited 
lis interest, or furthered his ambition ; and this he propably 
reconciled to his conscience by a commodious kind of casuis- 
try, in which he was a true adept. 

He wore upon his countenance a smile sufficiently seductive 
for common purposes and cursory acquaintance : his address 
waj buiooth, obsequious, studiously obliging, and at times glow- 
ingly heightened into an empassioned show of friendship and 
aftecLion. He was quick enough in finding out the characters 
of men, and the openings through which they were assailable to 
flattery ; but he was not equally successful in his mode of tem- 
pering and applying it ; for he was vain of showing his tri- 
umph over inferior understandings, and could not help colour- 
ing nis attentions oftentimes with ^ucli a florid hue, as gave an 
air of irony and ridicule, that did not always escape detection ; 
and thus it came to pas£ that he was little credited (and per- 
haps even less than he deserved ro be) for .sincerity in his warm- 
est professions, or politencr'; in his best attempt,-, to pleas?. 

As I am persuaded that he left behind him in his coffin at L,! 
Trappe no one passion, ii,ative or engrafted, that belonged to 
him when he entered it, ambition lost no hold upon his heart, 
and of course I must believe that the station, which he filled in 
Spain, and the high-sounding titles and dignities, which the fa- 
vour of hi:. Catholic Majesty might so readily endow him with, 
were to him such lures, as, though but feathers, outweighed ■ 
English guineas in hi? balance : for of these I must do him the 



204 MEMOIRS OF 

justice to say he was indignantly regardless ; but to the hon- 
ours, that his church could give, to the mitre of Waterford, 
though merely titular, it is clear to demonstration he had no re- 
pugnance. 

He made profession of a candour and liberality of sentiment, 
bordering almost upon downright protestantism, whilst in heart 
he was as high a priest as Thomas a Becket, and as stiff a 
catholic, though he ridiculed their mummeries, as ever ki,- sed the 
cross. He did not exactly want to stir up petty insurrections 
in his native country of Ireland, but to head a revv^mtioij, that 
should oveturn the church established, and enthrone himself 
primate in the cathedral of Armagh, would have been his bright- 
est glory and supreme felicity : and in truth he was a man by 
talents, nerves, ambition, intrepidity, titted for the boldest en- 
terprize. 

After he had negociated my introduction into Spain, and set 
the treaty on foot, the very first check, v^hich it received by the 
disturbances in London, left me very little hope of further help 
from him ; but when the prospect was darkened by accumu- 
lated clouds, and he discovered nothing through the gloom of 
my embarrassed situation but a tottering ministry, a discontent- 
ed people, an unqtiiet capital, our trading fleets captured, and 
our fighting fleets no longer worthy of the name ; when he saw 
Spain assume a proud and conquering attitude, and, (buoyed up 
by the promises of France) blockading Gibralter and preparmg 
for the actual siege of it, he began to perceive he had engaged 
himself in a most tmpromising intrigue, and readily lent his ear 
to those, that were at hand and ready to intrigue him out of it. 
He was assiduous in his homage to the Archbishop of Toledo, 
and in the closest intimacy and communication with the minis- 
ter of the Elector of Treves, and all at once, without the small- 
est cause of offence, or any reason that I could possibly divine, 
changed his behaviour as an inmate of my family, and from the 
warmest and most unreserved attachment, that man ever pro- 
fessed to man, took up a character of the severest gloom and 
sullenuess, for which he would assign no cause, but to all my 
enquiries, all my remonstrances, was either obstinately silent, or 
evasively uncommunicative. He would stay no longer, he was 
resolved to demand his passports, and actually wrote to Del- 
Campo to that purpose. To this demand an answer was return- 
ed, refusing him the passports until he had leave from Lord 
Hillsborough for quitting Spain, which it was at the same time 
observed to him could not be for his reputation to do in the de- 
pending state of the business, on v/hich he came. Upon this he 
proceeded to write a short letter to Lord Hillsborough, de- 
manding leave to return : he was not hardy enough to dispatch 
this letter without communicating it to me for my opinion : I 
gave it peremptorily againt-t his sending it : I stated to him my 
reasons why I thought both the measure and the mode decided- 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 205 

ly improper and dishonourable ; he grew extremely warm, and 
so intemperate, that i found it necessary to tell him, if he per- 
sisted in demanding his return of the secretary of state in those 
terms, that it would oblige me to write home in my own justifi- 
cation, and also to enter upon explanations with the Spanish 
Minister, who might else impute his conduct to a cabal with 
me, though it was so directly against my judgment and my 
wii-hes. I declared to him that I had not written a line, or tak- 
en a step without his privity, and that no one word had ever 
passed my lips, but what was dictated by sincere regard and 
consideration for him, and this was solemnly and strictly true : 
I said that I observed he had altered his behaviour towards mc 
and my family, v/hich he could not deriy, and I added that this 
proceeding must not only ruin him with the minister of Spain^ 
but was such as might be highly prejudicial to my business, un- 
less I took every prudent precaution to explain and avert the 
mischief it was pregnant with. The consequence of this con- 
versation was, that be did not send his letter to Lord Hillsbo- 
rough, but as he was not explicit on that point, I prepared my- 
self with a letter to Lord Hillsborough, and anotlier to Del- 
Campo, explanatory of his condiict, which, upon his assuring me 
on our next meeting that he would not write to England, I 
also forbore to send. Upon the following day, without any 
cause assigned or explanation given, my late sullen associate met 
me With a smiling countenance, and was as perfectly an alter- 
ed man, as if he had come a second time out of the cloisters of 
La Trappe. He was in fact a most profound casuist, and a 
confessor of the highest celebrity. 

I cannot say this caprice of Mr. Hussey gave me much con- 
cern, or created in me any extraordinary surprise, though I could 
never thoroughly develope the cause of it ; yet at that very 
time my life was brought into imminent danger by the unskil- 
fulnesb of the surgeons, who attended upon me in consequence 
of my having received a very serious injury by a fallfrom one of 
my Portuguese mules. I was riding on the Pardo road, when 
. the animal took fright, and in the act of stopping him the bitt 
broke asunder in his mouth. In this state, being under no 
command, he ran with violence against an equipage drawn by 
six mules that was passing along the road in a train with many 
others. In the concussion I came to the ground ; the can-iage 
fortunately stopped short, and I was lifted into it stunned with 
the shock and for a time insensible. I was bleeding at the el- 
bow, where the skin was torn, and upon recovering my senses 
J found myself supported by my wife in her chariot, and proba- 
bly indebted to her drivers for my life. Thoujili i had cause- 
to tremble for the consequences of the violent al?.rm I had giv- 
en her, as she was now very near her time, yet in other respects 
it was a fortunate and extraordinary chasx-e, that my accident 
should have thrown me immediately into her protection, who 
S 



206 MEMOIRS OF 

loft not an instant of time in conveying me home. Two sur- 
geons, such as Madrid could furnish, were called in and speedi- 
ly arrived, but for no other purpose, as it seemed, except to 
dispute and wrangle with each other upon the question if the 
arm was fractured at the shoulder or at the elbow, whilst each 
alternately twisted and tortured it as best suited him in support 
of his opinion. In the height of their controversy a third per- 
sonage made his appearance in the uniform of the Guardes de 
Cojps, being chief surgeon of that corps and sent to me by au- 
thority. This gentleman silenced both, but agreed with nei- 
ther, for he pronounced the bone to be split longitudinally from 
the shoukkr to the elbow, and finding it by this time extremely 
swelled and inflamed, very properly observed that no operation 
could be pel formed upon it in that state. Ke proceeded there- 
fore to bathe it liberally with an embrocation, which he affirm- 
ed was sovereign for the purpose, but if his object was to re- 
duce the swelling and assuage the infiammation, the learned 
gentleman was most egregiously mistaken, for the fiery spirit 
of the rum, with which he fom.ented it, soon increased both to 
so violent a degree with such a raging erysipelas as in a few 
days had every symptom of a miortification actually commenc- 
ing, when the case being pressing, my wife, whose presence of 
mind never deserted her in danger, took the prudent measure of 
dismissing the whole trio of ignoramuses, and calling to her as- 
sistance a modest rational practitioner in our near neighbour- 
hood, who under the sign of a brass-bason professed the sister 
arts of shaving and surgery conjointly, by reversing the practice 
so injurious and applying the bark, rescued me from their 
hands, and under Providence preserved my life. 

Kei-e I must take leave to digress a little from the tenour of 
my tale, whilst I record an anecdote, in itself of no other ma- 
terial interest except as it enables me to state one amongst the 
many reasons, which I have to love and revere the memory of 
a deceased friend, who devoted to me the evening of every day 
without the exception of one, which I passed during my resi- 
dence in Madrid. This excellent old man, Patrick Curtis by 
name, and by birth an Irishman, had been above half a century 
settled in Spain, domestic priest and occasionally preceptor to 
three successive Dukes of Osuna. In this situation he had been 
expressly the founder of the fortunes of the Premier Floiida 
Blanca, by recommending him as advocate to the employ and 
patronage of that rich and noble house. The Abbe Don Patri- 
cio Curtis was of course looked up to as a person of no small 
consideration ; he was aliso not less conspicuous and universal- 
ly respected for his virtues, for his high sei!se of honour, his 
bold sincerity of speech and generous benignity of soul ; but 
this good man at the same time had such an over-abundant por- 
tion of the amor patrU' about him, v^'as so inarked a devotee to 
the. British interest and so unreserved an opponent to that of 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 207 

France, that it seeme4 to demand more circumspection than he 
was disposed to bestow for guarding himself agaiast the resent- 
ment of a party, whose principles he airaigned without mitiga- 
tion, and whose power he set at open defiance without caution 
or reserve. Though considerably past eighty, his affections 
were as ardent and" his feelings as quick as if he had not reach- 
ed his twentieth year. When I was supposed to be out of 
chance of recovery this affectionate creature came to me in an 
agony of grief to take his last farewell. He told me lie had been 
engaged in fervent prayer and intercession on my behalf, and 
had pledged before the altar his most earnest and devoted sev- 
vices for the consolation and protection of my beloved wife and 
daughters, if it should please Heaven to remove me from them 
and reject his humble supplications for my life : he lamented 
that I had no spiritual assistant of my own church to resort to ; 
he did not mean to obtrude his forms, to which I was not ac- 
customed, but on the contrary came purposely to tender me 
his services according to my own ; and was ready, if 1 would fur- 
nish him with my prayer book, and allow him to secuix tiie 
doors from any, that might intrude or over-hear to the peri! of 
his life, to administer the sacrament to me exactly as it is or- 
dained by our church, requ-csting only that I would reach tlie 
cup with nsy own hand, and not employ his to tender it to me. 
All this he fulfilled, omitting none of the prayers appointed, and 
officiating in the most devout impressive manner, (though at 
times interrupted and overcome by extreme sensibility) to my 
very great comfort and satisfaction. Had the office of Inquisi- 
tion, whose terrific mansion stood within a few paces of my 
gates, had report of this which passed in my heretical chamber, 
my poor friend would have breathed out the short remnant of 
his days between two walls, never to be heard of more. From 
six o'clock in the afternoon till ten at night he never failed to 
occupy the chair next to me in my evening circle, and though I 
saw with infinite concern that his constitution was rapidiy 
breaking up for the last six or seven weeks of my stay, no per- 
suasion could keep him from coming to me and exposing his 
declining health to the night air ; at last when I was recalled and 
had fixed the day for my departure, dreading the effect, which 
the act of parting for ever might have upon his exhausted frame, 
I endeavoured to impose upon him a later hour of the morning 
than I meant to take for my setting out, and enjoined strict sc- 
cresy to all my party : but these precautions were in vain ; at 
three o'clock in the morning, when I entered the receiving room 
I found my poor old friend alone and waiting, with his arms 
extended to embrace me and bathed in tears, scarcely able to 
support himself on his tottering legs, now miserably tumified, 
a spectacle that cut my heart to the quick, and perfectly un* 
manned me. He had purchased a number of masses of some 
pious mendicants, which he lioped would be efficacious and 



■-'08 MEMOIRS OF 

.ivailfor our well-doing : he had no great faith in amulets, he 
told liie, yet he had brought me a ring of Mexican workman- 
ship and materials, very ancient and consecrated and blessed 
by a venerable patriarch of the Indies, since canonized for his 
miracles ; which lung had been highly prized by the late Duch- 
ess of,Osuna for its efficacy in preserving her from thunder and 
lightning, and though he did not presume to think that I would 
place the slightest confidence in its virtue, yet he hoped I would 
k't him bestow it on the person of the infant daughter, which 
v.-as born to me in Spain, whom 1 then gave into his arms, whilst 
he invoked a thousand blessings upon her. He brought a very 
fme crucifix cut in ivory ; he said he had put up his last prayers 
before it, and had nothing more to do but lie down upon his 
bed and die, which as soon as I departed he was prepared to do, 
sensible that his last hour was near at hand, and that he should 
survive our separation a very few days. I prevailed with him 
to retain his crucifix, but I accepted an exquisite Ecce Homo 
by El Divino Morales, and exchanged a token of remembrance 
with him ; I saw him led out of my house to that of the Duke 
of Osuna near at hand, and whilst I was yet on my journey the 
intelligence reached me of his death, and may the God of mer- 
cy receive him into bliss ! 

When I had so fin- advanced in my recovery as to be able to 
Vy-ear my arm in a sling, and endure the motion of a carriage, I 
dispatched my servant Camis to San Ildefonso, and pi'oposed 
to the minister a conference with him there upon the supposed 
mediation of Russia, on v,'hich he had thought fit to sound mc. 
My servant rcturnedj bringing a letter from the sub-minister 
Campo, in which he signifies the minister's wish that I would- 
consent to defer my visit, but adds that " If I think otherwise 
" I shall always be welcome — " I well knew to whom and 
to what I was indebted for this letter, and naturally was not 
pleased with it, yet I thought it best and most prudent to an- 
swer it as follows 

" To Scnor Don Bernardo Del-Campo,'* 
« Dear Sir, 

" My servant returned with your letter of this day 
in time to prevent my sitting out for San Ildefonso. 

« When I tell you that it is with pleasure I accommodate my- 
self to the wishes of Count Florida Blanca, I not only consult 
my own disposition, but I am persuaded I conform to that of 
my court, and of the minister, under whose immediate instruc- 
tions I am acting. The reconciliation of our respective nations 
is an object, which I look to with such cordial devotion, that I 
would on no account interpose myself in a moment unaccepta- 
ble to your court for any considcrat^ioiv short of my immediate 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 209 

duty. I am persuaded there is that honour and good faith in 
the councils of Spain, and ui the minister, who directs them, 
that I shall not suffer in his esteem by this proof of my acquies- 
cence, and I know too well the sincerity of my own court to 
apprehend for the part I have taken. 

" At the same time that I signify to you my acquiescence as 
above stated, I think my predicament thereby becomes such as 
to require an immediate report to my court, and 1 desire you 
will request of his excellency Count Florida Blanca to send me a 
blank passport, to be filled up by me with the name of such 
person, as I may find convenient to dispatch to England by the 
way of Lisbon. 

I am. See. Sec. 

R. C." 

This le^-^er produced a most courteous invitation, and thence 
ensued those conferences already described, wliich separated Mr. 
Hussey from m.e, and sent him home with propositions, which 
my instructions did not allow me to discuss. By this chasm in 
the business I was upon, I found myself so far at leisure, that I 
was tempted to indulge my curiosity by a visit to the Escurial, 
and accordingly set out for tiiat singular place with a letter from 
the minister to the Prior, signifying the king's pleasure that I 
should have free access to the manuscripts, and every facility,that 
could be given to my researches of whatever description. I had 
been informed. by Sir John Dalrymple of a curious manuscript, 
purporting to be letters of Brutus, to which he could not get 
access ; these letters are written in Greek, and are referred to 
by Doctor Bentley in his controversy with Boyle as notoriously 
spurious, fabricated by the sophists, of which there can be no 
doubt. I obtained a sight of the manuscript, and the fathers 
favoured me wiih a copy of the Greek original, and also of the 
Latin translation by Petrarch. I have them by me, but they 
are good for nothing, and bear decided evidence of an impos- 
ture. This the worthy father, who introduced himself to me 
as librarian and professor of the learned languages, discovered 
by a very curious process, observing to me that these could not 
be the true letters of Brutus, forasmuch as they profess to have 
been written after the death of Julius Csesar, which he had 
found out to be a flagrant anachronism, assuring me that Bru- 
tus, having died before Ceesar, could not be feigned to have 
Vv'ritten letters after the decease of the man who survived him. 
When I apologized for my hesitation in admitting his chronol- 
ogy, and asked him if Brutus was not suspected of having a 
hand in the murder of Caisar, he owned that he had heard of it, 
but that it was a mere fable, and hastening to his cell brought 
me down a huge folio of chronology, following me into the 
court; and pointing out the page, where T might read my own 
eonvjction. I thanked him for his solicitude, and assured him 
S2 



210 MEMOIRS OF 

that his authority was quite sufficient for the fact, and "recol- 
lecting how few enjoyments he pi-obably had in that lugubrous 
mansion, left him in possession of his victory and triumph. 

I took nobody with me to the Escurial but my servants and a 
Milanese traiteur, who opened an empty hotel, and provided 
me with a chamber and my food. There were indeed myriads 
of annoying insects, who had kept uninterrupted possession of 
their quarters, against whom I had no way of guarding myself 
but by planting my portable crib in the middle of the room, 
v/ith its legs immersed in pails of water. The court was ex- 
pected, but not yet arrived, and the place was a perfect solitude, 
so that I had the best possible opportunity of viewing this im- 
men-se edifice at my ease and leisure. I am not about to de- 
scribe it ; assuredly it is one of the most wonderous monu- 
ments that bigotry has ever dedicated to the fulfillment of a 
vow. Yet there is no grace in the external, which owes its 
power of striking to the immensity of its mass : The architect 
has been obliged to sacrifice beauty and proportion to security 
against the incredible hurricanes of wind, which at times sweep, 
down from the mountains that surround it ; of a scenery more 
savage, nature hardly has a sample to produce upon the habita- 
ble globe : yet within this gloomy and enormous receptacle, 
there is abundant food for curiosity in paintings, books and 
consecrated treasures exceeding all description. There is a 
vast and inestimable collection of pictures, and the great mas- 
ters, whose works were in my poor judgment decidedly the 
most prominent and attractive, are Raphael, Titian, Rubens, 
Velasquez and Coello, of which the two last were natives of 
Spain and by no means unworthy to be classed with the three 
former. Of Raphael there are but four pre-eminent specimens, 
of which the famous Perla is one, but hung very disadvan- 
tageously : of Titian there is a splendid abundance ; of Rubens 
not many, but some that shew him to have been a mighty mas- 
ter of the passions, and speak to the heart with incredible ef- 
fect ; they throw the gauntlet to the proudest of the Italian 
schools, and seem to leave Vandyke behind him almost out of 
sight : of Velasquez, if there was none other than his composi- 
tion of Jacob, vvhen his sons are showing him the coat of Jo- 
seph, it would be enough to rank him with the highest in his 
art : Coello's fame may safely rest upon his inimitable altar- 
piece in the private chapel. Were it put to me to single out 
for my choice two compositions, and only two, from out the 
whole inestimable collection, I would take Titian's Last Supper 
in the refectory for my first prize, and this altar-piece of Coel- 
lo's for iny second, leaving the Perla and Madona del pesce of 
Raphael, the Dead Christ of Rubens, and the Joseph of Velas- 
quez with longing and regret, but leaving them notwithstanding. 
The court removed from San Ildefonso to the Escurial in a 
few days after I had been there, and I was invited to bring my 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 211 

family thither, which accordingly I did. My reception here 
was very different trom what I had experienced at San Ildefon- 
so. The king, one of the best tempered men living, was par- 
ticularly gracious ; in walking through his apartments in the 
Escurial, I surprised him in his bed-chamber : the good man 
had been on his knees before his private altar, and upon the 
opening of the door, rose ; when seeing me in the act of retir- 
ing, he bade me stay, and condescended to show me some very 
curious South American deer, extremely small and elegantly 
formed, which he kept under a netting ; and amongst others a 
little green monkey, the most diminutive and most beautiful of 
its species I had ever seen. He also shewed me the game he 
had shot that morning of various sorts from the bocafica to the 
vulture. He was alone, and seemed to take peculiar pleasure 
in gratifying our curiosity. No monarch could well be more 
humbly lodged, for his state consisted in a small camp-bed, 
miserably equipped with curtains of faded old damask, that 
had once been crimson, and a cushion of the same by his bed- 
side, with a table, that held his crucifix and prayer book, and 
over that a three-quarters picture of the Mater-dolorosa by Ti- 
tian, which he always carried with him for his private altar- 
piece ; of which picture I was fortunate enough to procure a 
very perfect copy by an old Spanish master (Coello as I sus- 
pect) upon the same sized cloth, and very hardly to be distin- 
guished from the original. This picture I brought home with 
me, and it is now in my possession. His majesty's dress was, 
like his person, plain and homely ; a buff leather waistcoat, 
breeches of the same, and old-fashioned boots (made in Pall 
Mall), with a plain drab coat, covered with snuff and dust, a 
bad wig and a w^orse hat constituted his wardrobe for the chace, 
and there were very few days in the year, when he denied him- 
self that recreation. 

The Prince of Asturias, now the reigning sovereign, was al- 
ways so good as to notice the respect I duly paid him with the 
most flattering and marked attention. He spoke of me and to 
me with distinguished kindness, and caused it to be signified 
to me, that he was sorry circumstances of etiquette did not al- 
low him to show me those more pointed proofs of his regard, 
by which it was his wish to make appear the good opinion he 
was pleased to entertain of me. Such a testimony from a 
prince of his reserved and distant cast of character was to be 
valued for its sincerity. On my way fi-om San Ildefonso to Se- 
govia one morning at an early hour, as I was mounting a hill, 
that opened that extensive plain to my view, I discovered a par- 
ty of horsemen and the prince considerably advanced before 
them at the full speed of his horse ; I had just time to order 
my chariot out of the road, and halt it under some cork trees 
by the way-side, and according to my custom I got out to pay 
him my respects. The prince stopped his horse upon the in- 



21^ MEMOIRS OF 

stant, and with his hat in his hand wheeled him about to conne 
up to me, when the high-spirited animal, either resenting the 
manoeuvre, or taking fi'ight, as it seemed, at the gleainy re- 
flection of my grey mules half-covered with the cork branches, 
reared and wheeled upon his hinder legs in a most alarming 
manner. The prince appeared to me in such imminent dan- 
ger, that I was about to seize the bitt of his bridle, but he was 
much too complete a cavalier to accept of assistance, and after 
a short but pretty severe contest, brought his horse up to me 
in perfect discipline, and with many handsome acknowledg- 
ments for the anxiety I had shewn on his account, in a very 
gracious manner took his leave, and pursued his road to San 
Ildefonso : he was a man of vast bodily strength, and a severe 
rider ; the fine animal, one of the most beautiful I had seen in 
Spain, shewed the wounds of the spur streaming with blood 
down his glossy-white sides from the shoulder to the flank. 

This prince had a small but elegant pavilion at a short dis- 
tance fi-om the Escurial, which in point of furniture and pic- 
tures was a perfect gem ; he did me and my family the honour 
to invite us to see it ; at the appointed hour we found it pre- 
pared for our reception, with a table set out and provided with 
refreshments ; some of the officers of his household were in 
waiting ; the dukes of Alva, Grenada, Almodovar and others 
of high rank accompanied us through the apartments, and 
when I returned to my hotel at the Escurial, the prince's sec- 
retary called on me by command to know my opinion of it. 
There could be no difficulty in delivering that, for it really 
merited all the praife that I bestowed upon it. In a very short 
time after, the same gentleman returned and signified the 
prince's express desire to know if there was any thing in the 
style of furniture, that struck me as defective, or any thing I 
could suggest for its improvement. With the like sincerity 1 
made answer, that in my humble opinion the fitting of the prin- 
cipal room in the Chinese style, though_sufficiently splendid, 
was not in character with the rest of the apartments, that were 
hung round with some of the finest pictures of the Spanish and 
Italian masters, where a chaster style in poitit of ornament had 
been preserved. 

I heard no more of my critique for some days, and began to 
suspect that I had made m.y court very ill by risquing it,.when 
another message called me to review the complete change, 
which that apartment had undergone, to the exclusion of every 
atom of Japan work, in consequence of my remark. 

It was on this occasion that the minister Florida Blanca in 
the moment of that favour and popularity, which I then enjoy- 
ed, addressed me in a very different style from any he had ever 
used, and with an air of mock solemnity charged me with hav- 
ing practised upon the heir apparent of the crown of Spain by 
some secret charm, or hve-powdery to the engagement of his 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 21S 

affections, " which," ^aid he, " I perceive you are so cxclusive- 
" ly possessed of, that I must throw myself on your protection, 
" and request you to preserve to me some place in his re- 
" gard — " As I had found his excellency for the first time in 
the humour for raillery, I endeavoured to keep up the spiritof 
it by owning to the love-poxvder ; in virtue of which I had gain- 
ed that power over the prince, as to seize the bridle of his 
horse, and arrest him on the road, which led me to relate the 
anecdote of our rencounter on the way to Segovia above-de- 
scribed. He listened to me with great good humour, appear- 
ing to enjoy my narrative of the adventure, and at the conclu- 
sion observed to me, that my life was forfeited by the laws of 
Spain ; but as he supposed I had no evil design against the 
prince himself, but only wanted to possess myself of eo fine a 
charger, as an offering to my excellent and royal mast^ whose 
virtues made his life and safety dear to all the world, he would 
in confidence disclose to me that order was given out by his 
Catholic Majesty to select from his stud in the Mancha ten the 
noblest horses, that could be chosen, and out of those, upon 
trial of their steadiness and temper, to select two, which I might 
tender as my offering to the acceptance of my sovereign ; and 
this he observed was a present never before made to any crown- 
ed head in Europe but of his majesty's own immediate family, 
alluding to the King of Naples. 

A few days after my return to Madi-id this gracious promise 
was fulfilled, and two horses of the royal stud, led by the king's 
grooms and ccrvered by cloths, on which the royal anns, &c. 
were embroidered, were brought into the inner court of my 
house, and there delivered to me. I flatter myself they were such 
horses, as had not been brought out of Spain for a century be- 
fore, and not altogether unworthy of the acceptance of the il- 
lustrious personage, who condescended to receive them. I was 
at dinner when they an-ived, and Count Kaunitz, the imperial 
ambassador, was at the table with me. I had not spoken to 
him, or any other person, of this expected present, and his as- 
tonishment at seeing that, which had been the great desideratum 
of many ambassadors, and himself amongst the number, thus 
voluntarily and liberally bestowed upon me, (the secret and un- 
titled agent of a court at war with Spain) surprised him into 
some comments, which had the only tincture of jealousy, that I 
ever discovered in him. A crowd had followed these horses to 
the gates, which enclosed my courts ; one of these opened to 
the Plazuela de los Affligidos, and the other to the street of the;, 
inquisition ; I caused these gates to be thrown open, and when 
the people saw the horses with their royal coveringr upon them, 
led into my stable, they gave a shout expressive of their pleas- 
ure and applause. If my very amiable friend Kaunitz was not 
quite so highly gratified by these occurrences as I was, he wa^ 
pevfectly excusable. 



214 MEMOIRS OF 

I kept these horses in my stables at Madrid, and should not 
have used them but at the special requisition of the royal do- 
nor ; when that was signified to me, my daughters and myself 
rode them, as occasion suited, and as a proof how noble they 
were by nature, the following instance will suffice. As my 
eldest daughter was passing a small convent, not a mile from 
the gate of San Bernandino, a large Spanish mastiff of the wolf- 
dog kind rushed out of the convent, and seizing her horse by 
the breast, hung there by his teeth, whilst the tortured animal 
rushed onwards at full speed, showing no manner of vice, and 
only eager to shake otFhis troublesome encumbrance. In this 
situation she was perceived and rescued by a Spanish officer on 
foot, who presenting himself in the very line of the horse's 
course, gave him the word and signal to stop, when to my 
equal j(l^ and astonishment (for I saw the action) the generous 
animal obeyed, the dog dropped his hold, and the lady, still 
firm and unshaken in her seat, though alarmed and almost 
breathless, was seasonably set free by the happy presence of 
mind of her deliverer, and the very singular obedience of her 
royal steed, whose generous breast long retained the marks of 
his ignoble and ferocious assailant. 

When I had received my recall I sent these horses before me 
under the care of two Spaniards, father and son, of the name 
of Velasco, who led them from Madrid through Paris to Os- 
tend, walking on foot, and sleeping by them in their stables 
every night ; and taking their paSw^^age from Ostend to Margate^ 
arrived with them at my door in Portiand-Place, and delivered 
them without spot or blemish in perfect order and condition to 
his majesty's grooms at the royal Mews. 

If my gratitude to the memory of the late benevolent sove- 
reign, who was pleased by this and many other favours gra- 
ciously to mark the sincere, though ineffectual, efforts of an 
humble individual, defeated in his hopes by unforeseen events, 
which he could not controul, and afterwards abandoned to 
distress and ruin by his employers for want of that .success, 
which he could not command ; if my gratitude (I repeat it) to 
the deceased King of Spain causes me to be too particular, or 
prolix, in recording his goodness to me, it is because I natur- 
ally must feel it with the greater sensibility fi-om the contrast, 
which I painfully experienced, when I returned bankrupt, 
broken-hearted and scarce alive to my native country. But of 
this more at large in its proper place. 

I have hinted at the surprise, which m.y friend Count Kau- 
nitz expressed upon the present of the royal horses, it was 
again his chance to experience something of the like nature, 
when he did me the honour to dine with me upon the 4th of 
June, when with a few cordial friends I was celebrating my 
beloved sovereign's birth-day in the best manner my obscurity 
and humble mei^Bs allowed of. On this occasion I confess m^ 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 215 

surprise was as great ^s his, when the music of every regiment 
in ganison at Madiid, not excepting the Spanish guards, filed 
into my court-yard, and afforded me the exquisite delight of 
hearing those, who were in arms against my country, unite in 
celebrating the return of that day, which gave its monarch birth. 

I frequently visited the superb collection of paintings in the 
palace at Madrid ; the king was so good as to give orders for 
any pictures to be taken down and placed upon the eazel, 
which I might wish to have a nearer view of ; he also gave di- 
rection for a catalogue to be made out at my request, which I 
have published and attached to my account of the Spanish paint- 
ers ; he authorised me to say, that if the king my master 
thought fit to send over English artists to copy any of the pic- 
tures in his collection, either for engravings or otherwise, he 
would give them all possible facility and maintain them at free 
cost, whilst they were so employed ; this I made known on my 
return. He gave direction to his architect Sabbaiini, to supply 
from ihe quarries in Spain any blocks or slabs of marble, ac- 
cording to the samples, which I brought over to the amount of 
above a hundred, whenever any such should be required for the 
building or ornamenting the royal palaces in England. 

I bear in my remembrance many other favours, which after 
what I have related arc not necessary to enumerate. They 
were articles, to which his grace and goodness gave a value, 
and exactly such as I could with perfect consistency of char- 
acter accept. The present of Viguna cloth from the royal 
manufactory, which he had given to the ambassador Lord 
Grantham, in the same proportion was bestowed upon me. 
The superior properties of the Spanish pointer are well known, 
and dogs of the true breed are greatly coveted : the king un- 
derstood I was searching after some of this sort, and was pleas- 
ed to offer me the choice of any I might wish to have from out 
his whole collection ; but I had already possessed myself of 
two very fine ones, which his majesty saw, and thought them 
at least equal to any of his ov^-n ; I therefore thankfully ac- 
knowledged his kind offer, but did not avail myself of it. 

The Princess of Astarias, now reigning Queen of Spain, had 
taken an early opport'.mity of giving a private audience to my 
wife and daughters, and gratifying their curiosity with a sight 
of her jewels, most of which she described to be of English 
setting. She condescended to take a pattern of their riding 
habits, though they were copied from the uniform of our 
guards, and, when apprised of this, replied, that it was a 
further motive with her for adopting the fashion of it ; I re- 
member, however, that she caused a broad gold lace to be car- 
ried round the bottom of the skirt. She also condescended to 
send for several other articles of their dress, as samples, whilst 
they were conforming to the costuma of Spain to the minutest 
particular, and wearing nothing but silks of Spanish fabric, re- 



216 MEMOIRS OF 

jecting all the finery of Lyons, and every present or purchase, 
however tempting, of all French manufactures whatever. 
This lure for popularity succeeded to such a degree, that when 
these young Englishwomen, habited in their Spanish dresses, 
(and attractive, as I may presume to say they were by the 
bloom and beauty of their persons) passed the streets of Mad- 
rid, their coach was brought to frequent stops, and hardly 
found its passage through the crowd. A Spanish lady, when 
she rides, occupies both sides of her palfry, and is attended by 
her lacquies on foot, her horse in the mean time, movens, sed 
nan promovens, brandishing his legs, but advancing only by 
inches. When my wife and daughters on the contrary, who 
were all admirable riders, according to the English style and 
spirit, put their horses to their speed, it was a spectacle of 
such novelty, and oftentimes drew such acclamations, particu- 
larly from the Spanish guards whilst we were at the Escurial, 
as might have given rise to some sensations, if persisted in, 
which in good policy made it prudent for me to remand them 
to Madrid. 

Here I considered myself bound in duty to adapt my mode 
of life to the circumstances of my situation, and the undefined 
eharacter in which I stood. I was not restricted from receiv- 
ing my friends, but I made no visits whatsoever, and the jour- 
nal of any one day may serve for a description of the whole. 
The same circle assembled every afternoon at the same minute, 
and with the same regularity broke up. The ladies had a 
round table of low Pope-Joan, and I had a party of sitters-by. 
My house was extremely spacious, and that space by no means 
choaked up v/ith furniture ; I had fourteen rooms on the prin- 
cipal floor, and but one fire place ; in this, during the winter 
months, I burnt pieces of wood, purchased of a coach-maker, 
many of them carved and gilt, the relics of old carriages, and it 
was no uncommon thing to discover fragments of arms and 
breasts of Careatides, who had worn themselves out in the ser- 
vice of some departed Grandee, who had left them, like ^the 
wreck ofPharach's chariots to their disgraceful fate. I found 
my mansion in the naked dignity of brick floors and v/hite 
walls ; upon the former I spread some matts, and on the other 
I pasted some paper. I farmed my dinners from a Milanese 
traiteur, exorbitantly dear and unpardonably bad ; but I had 
no resource : they came ready cooked to my house, and v/ere 
heated up afresh in my stoves. The laquies, that I hired, had 
two shillings per day, and dieted themselves; my expense in 
equipage was very great, for the mules appropriate to my town 
use could not go upon the road ; others were to be hired for 
posting, and less than six had been against all rule. I had .' 
stable full of capital Spanish horses, exclusive of the king's 
three of which were lent to me for the use of the ladies, and tw*. 
given to me by Count Kauiiitz ; one of these, a most brautifu? 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. '2\- 

creature of the under=size, and a favourite of my wife's, I 
brought to England : Uie other was an aged horse, milk-white, 
the victor over nine bulls, and covered in his flanks and sides 
with honourable scars ; he had been devoted to the amphithea- 
tre under suspicion of having the glanders, but he out outlived 
the imputation, and in th.e true character of the Spanish horse 
carried himself in the proudest style of any I ever saw, possess- 
ing the sweetest temper with the noblest spirit, and wlien in the 
possession of the great Grandee Altamira, had been prized and 
admired above all other hordes of his day. My eldest daughter 
seldom failed to prefer him, but, thinking him too old to un- 
dergo any great fatigue, I did not risk the bringing him to Eng- 

.1 to th.\\nvperial Mm.:;'" ^-'j^. '^' 
:-.!nr to i^us' i'i, a'"d iv' no\',' m' ' 



understand ;t, secnud to begrounctcU un liie siory or Kiciiard- 
son's Pamela, and amongst the cliaracters of the piece there was 
one, who meant to personate a British sea-captain. When this 
representative of my countryman made his entrance on the 
stage, Kaunitz, who perhaps discovered something in my coun- 
teiiance, which the ridiculous dress and appearance of the actor 
very possibly excited, leaning forwards and addressing himself 
to me for the first time, said — " I hope, Sir, you will overlook a 
*' sihall mistake in point of costuma, which this gentleman has 
"' very naturally fallen into, as I am convinced he would have 
<' been proud of presenting himself to you in his proper uni- 
" form, could he have found amongst all his naval acquaintance 
*' any one, who could have furnished him with a sample of it." 
Tliis apology, at once so complimentary and ingenious, set oif by 
his elegant manner of address, led us into conversation, and from 
that evening I can hardly call to mind one, in which he failed 
to honour me with his company. In his features he bore a 
striking resemblance to the portrait, which he gave me of his 
father ; in his manners, which v.-ere those of a perfect gentle- 
man, he was coirectly fitted to the situation that he filled, and 
for that situation his talents, though not pre-eminently bril- 
liant, were doubtless all-suificient. He was not unconscious of 
those high pretensions to which his birth and station entitled 
him, but it was very rarely indeed that I could discover any 
symptoms in his behaviour, that betokened other than a proper 
and becoming sensibility towards his honour and his office. 
With a constitution rather delicate, he possessed a heart ex- 
tremely tender, and how truly and entirely that heart was de- 
voted to the elder of my daughters, I doubt not but he severely 
felt, when frustrated in his honourable and ardent wishes to be 
T 



'.;18 MEMOIRS Oi' 

united to her, he saw her depart out of Spain, and after one 
day's journey in our company took his melancholy leave for 
ever ; for after the revolution of a few months, when it may- 
be presumed he had conquered his attachment, and reconciled 
himsL'lf to his disappointment, this aniiable young nian, being 
then upon his departure for his native country, 'sickened and 
died at Barcelona. 

There were two other gentlemen of the imperial party, who 
very constantly were pleased to grace my evening circle ; the 
one Signor Giusti, an Italian, secretary of the embassy ; the oth- 
er General Count Pallavicini, a man not more ennobled by the 
gplendor of his birth, than by the services he had performed, 
and the fame he had acquired. In the short war between Aus- 
tria and Prijgiaj this ga.-^j^^t officer by a very brilliant coup-de- 
"^^^"nad surprised a fortress and m.ade ^orisoners the garrison, 
which covered him with glory and the favours oi^Jiis sovereign • 
lie was now making a military tour by command and at the 
charge of the Empress Oueen, and came into Spain, consigned 
(as I may say) to Count Kaunitz, for the purpose of being pas- 
sed into the Spanish lines, then investing Gibralter. — Into this 
fortress he was anxiously solicitous to obtain admission, and 
when no accommodation could be granted to his wishes 
through the influence of Count Kaunitz, I gave him letters to 
Mr. Walpole, which he carried to him at Lisbon, and by a route, 
■which that m.inister pointed out, assisted by his and my intro- 
duction to General Elliot, succeeded in his wishes, and 1 believe 
no man entertained a higher respect for the brave defenders of 
that fortress, or a warmer sense of the gratifying indulgence, 
which they granted to him in so liberal a manner. Count Pal- 
lavicini was in the prime of life, of a noble-air and high-born 
countenance ; tall, finely formed, gay, natural, open-hearted ; 
his spirit was alive in every feature ; it did not need the aid of 
suscitation ; no dress could hide the soldier, or disguise the gen- 
tleman. He had a happy flow of comic humour at command, 
unobtrusive however, and only resorted to at times and seasons ; 
of tlie suavity and pomposity of the Castilian character he seem- 
ed to have taken up a very contemptible impression, and v.ould 
no otherwise fall in with any of their habits and customs, than 
for the purpose of ridiculing them by imitations designedly ca- 
i-icatured. There are twenty ways of arranging the Spanish Ca- 
pa ; he never woidd be taught any one of them, though he un- 
derv/ent a lecture every night at parting, but in an one-and-twen- 
tieth vray of his own hung it on h.is shoulders, and marched oft" 
most amusingly ridiculous. I think it never was my lot to 
make acquaintance with a man, for v/hom my heart more rapid- 
ly warmed into fricndsliip, than it did towards this engaging 
gallant hero ; he continued to me his affectionate correspon- 
dence, till tmning out against the Turks, and ever foremost i" 
the field cf glorv, his head was sabred from his bodv at a stro'^:. . 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 2\9 

and he died, as he hadjived, in the very arms of victory ; his 
ardent courage, though it turned the battle, did not serve him 
to ward off the blow. 

From this lamented friend, whose memory will be ever dear 
to me, I have now in my possession letters, written from Prague, 
where he had a separate command of eight thousand men, by 
which letters, though he could not prevail with either of my 
daughters (for he successively addressed himself to each) tu 
change their country and forsake their parents and connections, 
yet I trust he was assured and satisfied from the answers he 
received, that it was because they could not detach themselves 
from ties like these, and not because they were insensible to his 
merits, when in their humble station they felt themselves com- 
pelled to reject those offers, that would have conferred honour 
on them, had they ranked amongst the highest. 

The Nuncio Colonna, cardinal elect, paid me some attentions, 
and the Venetian ambassador favoured nie with his visits. The 
Saxon minister. Count Gerstoff, was frequently at our evening 
parties, and the Danish minister Count Reventlau seldom fail- 
ed. The former of these was an animated lively man, and a 
most agreeable companion : Reventlau had been in a diplomatic 
character at the court of London, and had brought with him 
the language, manners and habitudes, of an Englishman of the 
first fashion. His partiality to our native country created in 
me and my family a reciprocal partiality for him, and so inter- 
esting was this elegant young Dane in person, countenance and 
address, that the eye, whicli could have contemplated him 
with indifference, must have held no correspondence with the 
heart. We passed the whole evening before our departure 
with this engaging and affectionate friend ; the parting was to 
all most painful, but by one in particular more acutely felt 
than I will attempt to describe. Reventlau was one, and not 
the eldest of a very mnnerous and noble family : his father 
had been minister, but his hereditary property was by no means 
large, and the purity of his principle disdained the accumula- 
tion of any other advantages or rewards, than those, which at- 
tached themselves to his reputation, and were rigidly consist- 
ent with the chai-acter of a patriot. 

Colonel O'Moore of the Walloons, a very worthy and re- 
spectable man, and Signor Nicolas Marchetti of the corps of 
Engineers, a Sicilian, were constant parties in our friendly cir- 
cle. There were other Irish officers in the Spanish service, 
some religious also of that nation, and some in the commercial 
line, who frequently resorted to me ; but to the generous and 
benevolent Marchetti in particular, who accompanied me 
through the whole of my disastrous journey from Madrid, by 
the way of Paris, I am beholden for the means that enabled 
me to reach my native country, as will appear hereafter. 

Count Pietra Santa, lieutenant-colonel of the Italian band of 



220 MEMOIRS OF 

body guards, Avas my moat dear and intimate friend ; by that 
jiame in its truest and most appropriate sense I must ever re- 
member him, (for he is now no more) and though the days 
tiiat I passed with him in Spain did not out -number those of a 
single year, yet in every one of these I had the happiness to 
enjoy so many hours of his society, that in his case, as in that 
of the good old Abbe Curtis, whilst we were but young in ac- 
quaiiitauce, we might be fairly said to be old in friendship. It 
is ever matter of delight to me, when I can see the world dis- 
posed to pay tribute to those modest imassuming characters, 
who exact no tribute, but in plain and pure simplicity of heart 
recommend themselves to our affections, and borrowing noth>- 
ing froii\ the chai-ms of wit, or the display of genius, exhibit 
virtue — in itself hovj lovely. Such was my deceased friend, a 
man, whom every body with unanimous assent denominated 
the good Pietra Santa, whom every body loved, for he that ran 
could read him, and who together with the truest courage of a 
soldier and the highest principles of honour combined such 
moral virtues with such gentle manners and so sweet a temper, 
that he seemed destined to give the rare example of a human 
creature, in whom no fault could be discovered. 

In this society I could not fail to pass my hours of relaxation 
very much to my satisfection without resorting to public pla- 
ces or assemblies, in which species of amusement Madrid was 
very scantily provided, for there was but one theatre for plays, 
no opera, and a most unsocial gloom.y stile of living seemed to 
characterise the whole body of the nobles and grandees. I 
was not often tempted to the theatre, wliich v\'as small, dai'k, 
ill-furnished, and ill-attended, yet when the celebrated tragic 
actress, known by the title of the Tiranna, played, it was a 
treat, which I should suppose no other stage then in Europe 
could compare with. l"hat extraordinary woman, whose real 
name I do not remember, and whose real origin cannot be tra- 
ced, till it is settled from what particular nation or people we 
are to derive the outcast race of gipsies, was not less formed to 
strike beholders with the beauty and commanding majesty of 
her person, than to astonish all that heard her, by the powers 
that nature and art had combined to give her. My friend 
Count Pietra Santa, who had honourable access to this great 
stage heroine, intimated to her the very high expectation I had 
formed of her performances, and the eager desire I had to see 
her in one of her capital characters, telling her at the same 
time that I had been a writer for the stage in my own country : 
in consequence of this intimation she sent me word that I 
should have notice from her, when she wished me to come to 
the theatre, till when, she desired I would not present myself 
in my box upon any night, though her name might be in the 
bill, for it was only when she liked her part, and was in the 
humour to play well, that she wished me to be present. 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 221 

In obedience to her message I waited several days, and at last 
received the looked-for summons ; I had not been many min- 
utes in the theatre before she sent a mandate to me to go home, 
for that she was in no disposition that evening for playing well, 
and should neither do justice to her own talents, nor to my ex- 
pectations. I inbtantly obeyed this wnimsical injunction, know- 
ing it to be so perfectly in character with the capricious hu- 
mour of her tribe. When something more than a \weck had 
passed, I was again incited to the theatre, and permitted to sit 
out the whole representation. I liQd not then enough of the 
language to understand much more than the incidents and ac- 
tion of the play, which was of the deepest cast of tragedy, for 
in the course of the plot she murdered her infant children, and 
exhibited them dead on the stage lying on each side of her, 
whilst she, sitting on the bare floor between them (her attitude, 
action, features, tones, defying all description) presented such 
a high-wrought picture of hysteric phrensy, laughing 'wUd 
amidst severest -zuoe, as placed her in my judgment at the very- 
summit of her art ; in fact I have no conception that the powers 
of acting can be carried higher, and such was the effect upon 
the audience, that whilst the spectators in the pit, having caught 
a kind of sympathetic phrensy from the scene, were rising up in 
a tumultuous manner, the word was given out by authority for 
letting fall the curtain, and a catastrophe, probably too strong 
for exhibition, was not allowed to be completed. 

A few minutes had passed, when this wonderful creature, led 
in by Pietra Santa, entered my box ; the artificial paleness of 
her cheeks, her eyes, which she had dyed of a bright vermilion 
round the edges of the lids, her tine arms bare to the shoulders, 
the wild magnificence of her attii-e, and the profusion of her 
dishevelled locks, glossy black as the plumage of the raven, 
gave her the appearance of something so more than human, such 
a Sybil, such an imaginary being, so awful, so impressive, that 
my blood chilled as she approached me not to ask but to claim 
my applause, demanding of me if I had ever seen any actress, 
that could be compared with her in my own, or any other coun- 
try. " I was determined," she said, " to exert myself for you 
" this night ; and if the sensibility of the audience would have 
'• sufilred me to have concluded the scene, I should have con- 
" vinced you that I do not boastof my own performances with- 
" out reason." 

The allowances, which the Spanish theatre could afford to 
make to its performers, were so very moderate, that I should 
doubt if the wholeyears salary of the Tiranna would have more 
than paid for the magnificent dress, in which she then appeared ; 
but this and all other charges appertaining to her establishment 
were defrayed from the coffers of the Duke of Osuna, a grandee 
of the fir^t class and commander of the Spanioh Guards. This 
noble person found it indispensably necessary for his honour 
T2 



222 MEMOIRS OF 

to have the finest woman in Spain upon his pension, but 
bo no means necessary to be acquainted with her, and at 
the very time, of which I am now speaking, Pietra Santa 
seriously assured me, that his excellency had indeed paid 
large sums to her order, but had nevi-r once visited, or 
even seen her. He told me at the same time that he had very 
lately taken upon himself to remonstrate upon this want of cu- 
riosity, and having suggested to his excellency how possible it 
was for him to order his equipage to the dojr, and permit him 
to introduce him to this fair creature, whom he knew only by 
report and the bills she had drawn upon his treasurer, the duke 
graciously consented to my friend's proposal, and actually set 
out with him for the gallant purpose of taking a cup of choco- 
late with his hitherto invisible mistress, Avho had notice given 
her of the intended visit. The distance from the house of the 
grandee to the apartments of the gipsy was not great, but the 
lulling motion of the huge state-coach, and the softness of the 
velvet cushions had rocked his excellency into so sound a nap, 
that vi^hen his equipage stopped at the lady's door, there was 
not one of his retinue bold enough to undertake the invidious 
task of troubling his repose. The consequence was, that after 
a proper time was passed upon the halt for this brave command- 
er to have waked, had nature so ordained it, the coach wheel- 
ed round and his excellency having slept away his curiosity, had 
not at the time when I left Madrid ever cast his eyes upon the 
person of the incomparable Tiranna. I take for granted my 
friend Pietra Santa drank the chocolate, and his excellency en- 
joyed the nap. I will only add in confirmation of my anecdote, 
that the good Abbe Curtis, who had the honour of having edu- 
cated this illustrious sleeper, verified the fact. 

When Count Pailaviciiii left Madrid and went to Lisbon in 
the hope of getting into Gibralter through the introduction, 
that I gave him to the minister Mr. Walpole and others of my 
correspondents in that city, I availed myself of that opportuni- 
ty for conveying my dispatches of the 12th of December 1780, 
to the Secretary of State Lord Hillsborough. They embraced 
much matter and very many particulars, interesting at that time, 
but now so long since gone by, that the insertion of them here 
con Id answer no purpose but to set forth my own unwearied 
assiduity, and good fortune in procuring intelligence, which in 
tiie event proved perfectly correct. On the 3d of the month 
following, viz. January 1781, I inform Lord Hillsborough, that 
<' having found means to obtain ^^es of some state papers, the 
*' authenticity of which may be relied upon, I have the honour 
" to transmit them to your lordship by express to Lisbon — " 
These were all actual dispatches of the minister Florida Blanca, 
secret and confidential, to the Spanish envoy at the court of 
Petersburgh, and developed an intrigue, of which it was highly 
important tliat my court should be apprised. This project it 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 223 

was my happy chance to lay open and defeat by the acquisition 
of these papers througlf the agency of one of the ablest and most 
efficient men, that ever was concerned in business of a secret 
nature : had my corresponding minister listened to the recom- 
mendation I gave of this gentleman, I could have taken him en- 
tirely into the pay and service of my court, and the advantages to 
be derived from a person of his talents and address were incal- 
culable. He served me faithfully and effectually on this, and 
some other occasions, and it was not without the most sensible 
regret I found myself constrained to leave him behind me. 

When I had sent my faithful servant Camis express with this 
important dispatch, I received the following letter fi-om the 
Earl of Hillsborough 

" St. James's, 9th December, 1780. 
" Sir, 

" I have duly received your letters from No. 7 
to No. 12 inclusive, and laid them before the king. The last 
number was delivered to me by Mr. Hussey. That gentleman 
has communicated to me the purport of Count Florida Blanca's 
conversation with him, for which purpose alone he appears to me 
to have returned to London. The introduction of Gibralter 
and the American rebellion into that conversation, convinces 
me that there is no intention in the court of Spain to make a 
separate treaty of peace with us. / do not ho-ivever as yet signi- 
fy to you the king's command for your return, though I see little 
utility in your remaining at Madrid. 

" If you should obtain any further intelligence concerning 
the mediation, which you informed me you understood had 
been proposed by the Empress of Russia, I desire you will ac- 
quaint me with it. 

" Mr. Hussey undertakes to deliver this letter to you. I have 
nothing further to add, but to repeat to you, that the king ex- 
pects from you the strictest adherence to your instructions, 
without any deviation whatsoever during the remainder of the 
time you shall continue at Madrid. 

" I am, with great truth and regard, 
" Sir, 

" Your most obedient 
Mr. Cumberland. " Humble servant, 

(Signed) " Hillsborough." 

This was sufficient authority for me to believe that my mis- 
sion was fast approaching to its conclusion, and I prepared my- 
self accordingly. In the mean time Mr. Hussey ivho undertook 
to deliver this letter to me, was stopped at Lisbon and not per- 
mitted to continue his journey into Spain ; for in fact the train, 
which my minister had now contrived to throw the negociation 
into, was not acceptable to the Spanish court, and the rigour, 



524 MEMOIRS OF 

with which I was enjoined to adhere to my instructions, ope- 
rated so effectually against the several overtures, which were 
repeatedly made to me on the part of Florida Blanca, that I 
must ever believe the negociation was lost on our part by trans- 
ferring it to one, with whom Spain was not inclined to treat, 
and tying up my hands, with whom there seemed every dispo- 
sition to agree. In fact we parted merely on a punctilio, which 
might have been qualified between us with the most consum- 
mate ease ; they wanted only to talk about Gibralter, and I 
was not permitted to hear it named ; the most nugatory article 
would have satisfied them, and if I had dared to have given in 
writing to the Spanish minister the salvo, that I suggested in 
conversation after my receiving the letter above referred to, I 
have every reason to be confident that the business would have 
been concluded, and the object of a separate treaty accom- 
plished without any other saci-ifice than that of a little address 
and accommodation in the matter of a mere punctilio. 

When some conferences had passed, in which, fettered as I 
was by my instructions, I found it impossible to put life into 
-our expiring negociation, favoured though 1 was by the court 
and minister to the last moment of my stay, I wrote to Lord 
Hillsborough as follows — 

" Madrid, January isth, 1781. 
" No. 19. My Lord, 

" In consequence of a letter, which Mr. Hussey 
will receive by this conveyance from Count Florida Blanca, I 
am to conclude, that he will immediately return to England, 
without coming to this court. In the copy of this letter, which 
his excellency has communicated to me, he remarks, that, in 
case the negociation shall break off upon the answer now given, 
my longer residence at Madrid will become unnecessary : and 
as I am persuaded that your lordship and the cabinet will agree 
with the minister of Spain in this observation, I shall put my- 
self in readiness to obey his majesty's recall. In the mean time 
I beg leave to repeat to your lordship, that I shall strictly ad- 
here to his majesty's commands, trusting that you will have 
the goodness to represent to his majesty my faithful zeal and 
devotion, how ineffectual soever they may have been, in the fair- 
est light. 

" Understanding that the king had been pleased to accept 
from the late Prince Masserano a Spanish horse, which was in 
great favour, and hoping that it might be acceptable to his 
maje ly, if occasion offered of suc>plying his stables with anoth- 
er of fhe like quality, 1 de'ircd permission of the minister to 
take cut jf Spain a horse, which I had in my ey- , md his ex- 
cellency I;;-v!ng reported this my desire to the King of Spain, 
his Caiholif. M;ycsty was so good as to give immediate diree- 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 225 

tion for twelve of the best horses in Andalusia of his breed of 
royal Caribaneers to bc'drafted out, and from these two of the 
noblest and steadiest to be selected, and given to me for the 
above purpose. I have accordingly received them, and as they 
fully answer my expectations both in shape and quality, and are 
superior to any I have seen in this kingdom, I hope they will 
be approved of by his majesty, if they are fortunate in a safe 
passage, and shall an-ive in London without any accident. 

" Don Miguel Louis de Portugal, ambassador from her most 
faithful majesty to this court, died a few days ago of a tedious 
and painful decay. The Infanta of Spain is sufficiently recov- 
ered to remove from Madi-id to the Pardo, where the court 
now resides. 

" I have the honour to be, &c. &c. 

" R. C' 

Whilst the court was at the Pardo, a complaint, founded on 
the grossest misrepresentations was started and enforced upon 
me by the minister respecting the alledged ill treatment of the 
Spanish prisoners of war in England. I traced this complaint 
to the reports of a certain Captain Nunez, then on his parole 
and lately come from England ; with this gentleman thei-e came 
a nephew of my friend the Abbe Curtis, who had been chap- 
lain on board Captain Nunez's frigate, when she was taken, 
and who was now liberated, having brought over with him a 
complete copy of the minutes of parliament, in which the mat- 
ter in complaint was fully and completely enquired into, and 
the allegations in question confuted upon the clearest evidence. 
Captain Nunez himself being present at the examination and 
testifying his satisfaction and entire conviction upon the result 
of it. These documents the worthy nephew of my friend very 
honourably put into my hands, and, armed with these, I prov- 
ed to the court of Spain, that, upon a sickness breaking out 
amongst the Spanish prisoners from their own uncleanliness 
and neglect, our government, with a benevolence peculiar to 
the British character, had made exertions wholly out of course, 
furnishing them with entire new bedding at a great expense, 
supplying them with medicines and all things needful, whilst in 
attendance on the deceased more than twenty surgeons (I speak 
from memory, and I believe I am correct) had sacrificed their 
lives. If in the refutation of a charge so grossly unjust and in- 
jurious as this, I lost my patience and for a short time forgot 
the management befitting my peculiar situation, I can truly say 
it was the only error I committed of that sort, though it was by 
no means the only instance that occurred to provoke me to it, 
as the following anecdote will demonstrate. 

There was a young man, by name Anthony Smith, a native 
of London, living at Madrid upon a small allowance, paid to 
him upon the decease of his father, who had been watch-ma- 



Si'6 MEMOIRS OF 

kcr to the King of Spain. I took this young man into my fam- 
ily upon the recommendation of the Abbe Curtis, and employ- 
tb him in transcribing papers, arranging accounts and other 
small affairs, in which his knowledge of the language rendered 
him very useful. One day about noon the criminal judge with 
his attendants walked into my house, and seizing the person of 
this young man took him to prison, and shut him up in a soli- 
tary cell without assigning any cause for the proceeding, or 
stating any crime, of which he was suspected. I took the 
course natural for me to take, and from the effect, which my 
remonstrance and appeal to the minister instantly produced, I 
had no reason to think him privy to the transaction, for late in 
the evening of the next day Anthony Smith was brought to my 
gates by the officers of Justice, from whom I would not re- 
ceive him, but sent him back till the day following, when I re- 
quired him to be delivered to me at the same hour and in the 
same public manner as they had chosen to take him from me, 
and further insisted that the same criminal judge with his at- 
tendants should be present at the suiTender of their prisoner. 
All this was exactly complied with, and the foolish magistrate 
was hooted at by the populace in the most contemptuous man- 
ner. It seemed that this wise judge was in search of an assa:- 
sin, who was described as an old black-complexioncd fellow 
w^ith a lame foot, whereas Smith v^as a very feir young man, 
with red hair, and perfectly sound and active on his legs. 
What were the motives for this wanton act of cruelty I never 
could discover ; I brought him with me to England, but tlie 
teiTors he had suffered during his short but dismal confinement 
haunted him through every stage of his journey, till we passed 
the frontiers of Spain. When we arrived in London I recom- 
mended him to my friend Lord Rodney, as Spanish clerk on 
hoard his flag ship, but poor Smith's spirit was so broken, 
that he declined the service, and found a more peaceful occu- 
pation in a merchant's counting-house. 

I was now in daily expectation of my recal, and a^ my own 
immediate negociation was t-hifted, for a time, into other hands, 
I availed myself of those means, which by my particular con- 
nexions I v>-as possessed of, for collecting such a body of useful 
information, as might safely be depended upon, and this I 
transmitted to my corresponding minister in my dispatches N° 
20 of the 3 1st of January, and N° 21 of the 3d of February, 
1781. I had now no longer any hope of bringing Spain into a 
separate treaty, whilst my court continued to receive overtures, 
and return answers, through the channel of Mr. Hussey then 
at Lisbon, and Florida Blanca having imparted to me a dis- 
patch, which he affected to call his ultimatum, I plainly saw 
extinction to the treaty upon the face of that paper, for he 
would still persist in the delusive notion, that he could insinu- 
ate articles and stipulatioas for Gibralter in his Gommunication^ 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 2l , 

through Mr. Hussey, though I by my instructions could not 
pass a single propositiofi, in which it might be named. When 
he had written this letter, which he called his ultimatum, it 
seems to have occurred to him to communicate it to me rather 
too late for any good purpose, inasmuch as he had taken his 
Catholic Majesty's pleasure upon it, and made it a state paper, 
before he put it into my hands. He nevertheless was earnest 
with me to give him my opinion of it, and I did not hold my- 
self in any respect bound to disguise from him what I thought 
of it, neither did I scruple to suggest to him the idea, which I 
had formed in my mind, of an expedient, that might have con- 
ciliated both parties, and would at all events have obviated 
those consequences, to which his unqualified requisition could 
not fail to lead. It will suffice to say that he candidly declared 
his readiness to adopt my idea, and form his letter anew in con- 
formity to it, if he had not, by laying it before the King, made^ 
it a state paper, and put it out of his power to alter and new- 
model it, without a second reference to the royal pleasure. 
This however he was perfectly disposed to do, provided I 
would give him my suggestions in ^Mrit'nig, as a produceable 
authority for re -considering the question. Here my instruc- 
tions stood so irremoveably in my way, that, although he ten- 
dered me his honour that my interference should be kept se- 
cret, I did not venture to commit myself, nor could he be 
brought to consider conversation as authority. 

Upon the failure of this my last effort I regarded the nego- 
ciation as lost, and, reflecting upon what had passed in the 
confeiTence above referred to, when I had finished my letter 
N° 20 of the SI St of January, 1781, I attached to it the fol- 
lowing paragraph, viz. — 

" Since Count Florida Blanca dispatched his express to Lis- 
bon I have not heard from Mr. Hussey, neither do I knovv^ any 
thing of his commission, but what Count Florida Blanca's an- 
swer opens to me, and as I must believe that in great part a fi- 
nesse, I cannot but lament, that it had not been prepared by 
discussion. — " 

As the court of Spain was now become the centre of some 
very interesting and important intrigues, by which she was 
attempting to impose the project of a general pacification un- 
der the pretended miediation of Russia only, and to substitute 
this project in the place of the separate and exclusive treaty, 
now on the point of dissolution, I felt myself justified in tak- 
ing every measure, which my judgment dictated, and my con- 
nexions gave me opportunity to pursue, for bringing that event 
to pass, of which I appiize Lord Hillsborough in the following 
paragraph of my letter N'^ 20, viz. — 

" An express from Vienna brought to Count Kaunitz, in the 
evening of the 27th instant, the important particulars relative 
to the mediation of his imperial majesty jointly with the cm- 



229 MEMOIRS OF 

press of Russia. This court being at the Pardo, the Ambassa- 
dor Kaunitz took the next day for communicating with Count 
Florida Blanca, and yesterday a courier arrived from Paris with 
the instructions of that court to Count Montmorin on the 
subject. 

" When the minister of Spain shall deliver the sentiments 
of His Catholic Majesty to the imperial ambassador, which 
will take place on the day after to-morrow, they will probably 
be found conformable to those of France, of which I find 
Count Kaunitz is already posbcst. ] shall think it my duty to 
apprize your lordship of any particulars, that may come to 
my knowledge, proper for your information. — " 

In my letter N^ 21, of the sd of February, I acquaint Lord 
Hillsboi-ough tiiat " the anbwer of Spain to the proposition of 
the Emperor's mediation was made on the day mentioned in 
my letter N° 20, and as I then believed it would conform to 
that of France, so in efi'ect it happentd, with this further cir- 
cumstance, that in future reference is to be made to the Span- 
ish ambassador at Paris, who in concert with the minister of 
France is to speak for his court, being instructed in all cases 
for that purpose." 

Upon this arrangement I observe that it is made — " As well 
to sooth the jealousy of the French court, who in their answer 
glanced at the separate negociation here carrying on with Great 
Britain, as for other obvio'is reasons — " In speaking of the 
Emperor's proposed mediation I explain the reasons that pre- 
vailed with me for expressing my wishes in a letter N° 8 of the 
4th of August — " That the good offices of the imperial court 
might maintain their precedency before those of any other, and 
that I ,am well assured it was owing to the knowledge Russia 
had of these overtures made by the imperial court, that she 
put her propositions to the belligerent powers in terms so guard- 
ed and so general, as should not awaken any jealousy in the 
first proponent," and I add, " fliat I know the instructions of 
Monsieur de ZinowiefT, the Russian Ambassador, to have been 
so precise on this head, so far removed from all idea of the 
formal overture pi-etended by the Spanish minister, that I think 
lie Vi'ould hardly have been induced to deliver in any hunting, as 
Monsieur Simolin did in London, although it had been so de- 
sired." 

I shall obtrude upon my readers only one more extract from 
this letter, in Avhich — " I beg leave to add a word in explana- 
tion of what I o]>serve at the conclusion of my letter N° 20, 
touching the answer made to Mr. Hussey, viz. that it <were to be 
<iviskedit bad been preceded by a discussion — this I said, my Lord, 
because the answer was no sooner settled and given to the King, 
than a disposition evidently took place to have re-considered 
and modified the stipulation for Gibralter, nov/ so glaringly in- 
admissible ; but this and every other observation touching our 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. -^'^9 

ucgociation, traversed by so many unforeseen events, will for the 
future, as I hope, find its course in a more general and success- 
ful channel — ." 

I make no other comment upon the good or ill policy of lay- 
ing me under those restrictions, but that I could else have pre- 
vented the transmission of that article, which gave the death- 
blow to my negociation. 

For this I was prepared, and after the revolution of a few days 
received his majesty's recal, communicated to me in the follow- 
ing letter : — 

*' St. James's, 14th February, 1781. 
« Sir, 

" I am sorry to find from your last letter No. 19, 
and from that written from Count de Florida Bianca to Mr. 
Hussey, which the latter received at Lisbon, that an entire stop 
is put to the pleaving expectation, which had been formed from 
your residence in Spain. Had I been as well informed of the 
intentions of the coin-t of Madrid, when you went abroad, as I 
now am, you would certainly not have had the trouble and fa- 
tigue of so long a voyage and journey. 

" There remains nothing now for mc but to acquaint you, 
that I am commanded by the King to signiiy to you his majes- 
ty's pleasure, that you do immediately return to England : 
when I say immediately, it is not intended that your departure 
chould have the appearance of resentm.ent, or that you should 
be deprived of the opportunity of expressing a just sense of the 
marks of civility and attention, which Mr. Cumberland has re- 
ceived since liis arrival in Madrid. 

I am, with great tnith and reg;u'd, 
Sir, 

Your most obedient 

Humble servant, 
(Signed) Hillsborough." 

I had now his majesty's commands, signified to me as above, 
for my return to England, and his lordship's interpretation of 
them to direct my beh-aviour in avoiding all appearance oi re- 
sentment, which I did not feel, and expressing that sense of grat- 
itude, wJiich I did feel, for the many marks of civility and at- 
tention, which I had received in the person of Mr. Cumherland, 
since A/j arrival in Madrid. To these excellent rules of con- 
duct I was prepared to pay the most cojTect and cheerful obe- 
dience. 

For the favour of his lordship's information, that he would 
have spared me the trouble and fatigue of my long journey, if 
he had been aware that there was no occasion for my taking it, 
I could not but be duly thankful, and I am most sincerely sony 
that nobody could be found with prescience to inform his lord- 
U 



250 MEMOIRS OF 

t>liip what the intenliom of the court of Madrid would be for a 
whole year to coim^, nor to apprize me what my recompense 
would be upon the expiration of it. If such inspiration had been 
vouchsafed to both, I think I can guess, who would have been 
the greater gainer of the two. 

Had any kind good-natured incendiary been so confidential 
as to have told me, that it was his intention to set fire to Lon- 
don as soon as I vvas well out of it; or had Count Florida 
Blanca had the candour to have premised, that his invitation of 
me into Spain had no other object in view, but to give me the 
amusement of a tour, and himself the pleasure of my company, 
it would perhaps have been very flattering to my vanity, but I 
don't think it would have suited my principle to have passed 
it oft" for a negoci;ition, and I am quite convinced it would not 
have suited my finances to have paid his excellency the visit, 
and sacrificed my fortune to the amusement of it. 

It certainly would be extremely convenient, if we could al- 
ways see to the end of an experiment before we undertake it. 
I could not see to the cud of the riots in London, when they 
were i-eported to be so terrible, yet I predicted as ti'uly as if I 
had foreseen it, and was reprimanded notwithstanding ; if then 
I acted wrong by guessing right at the only favourable occur- 
rence, that happened whilst I was in Spain, how should I have 
escaped a severer reproof if I had been as successful in fore- 
telling the many evil occurrences of that disastrous year, dur- 
'ing the whole course of which I kept alive a treaty, which was 
never lost till it was taken out of my hands ? 

If here I seem to speak too vainly of my unsuccessful ser- 
vices, I have to appeal to the testimony of that great and able 
minister. Prince Kaunitz, who together with his tender of the 
mediation of the imperial court, communicated to the iiritisli 
cabinet, suggests a v/ish, that I may be included in the com- 
mission, if such shall be appointed, at the general congress ; 
and is pleased to give for his reat-.on, the favourable impression., 
which his correspondence with Spain, had giveniiim, of my 
conduct there in carrying on a very arduous business, whicli 
many circumstances contributed to embariass. — I'liis I should 
never have had the gratification to know, had it not been com- 
municated to me by a friend after my return to England, who, 
concluding I had Ix-en informed of it, was complimenting me 
upon it. Ihus I went abroad to find friendship and protection, 
and came home to meet injustice and oppression. 

If the following fact, which is correctly true, and which I 
now for the first time make public, shall prove that those, 
whom I could not put at peace with my country, were yet at 
perfect peace with me, I hope I shall not be suspected of having 
overstrained the privilege allowed me by my letter of recal, and 
carried my complaisance too far upon my larewell visit to the 
Spaniih minister at the Pardo. I certainly harboured no ;v- 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 2 si 

ientment in my Iieart, and having free leave to avoid the appear- 
ance of it, had no object but to express as well as I was able the 
grateful sense I entertained of the many favours, wliich the 
King and court of Spain had condescended to bestow upon me 
and mine. In replying to these acknowledgments, sojuslly 
due, Count Florida Bianca, assuTning an air of more than ordi- 
nary gravity, and delivering himself slowly and distinctly, as 
one, who wishes that a word should not be lost, addressed the 
following speech to me, which according to my invariable prac- 
tice, I wrote down and rendered into English in my entry book, 
whilst it was yet fresh in my memory ; and from that record i 
have transcribed not only this, but every other speech, thai I 
have given as authentic in these Memoirs 

" Sir, the King my Sovereign has been entirely satisfied with 
every part of your conduct during th.e time you have resided 
amongst us. His majesty is convinced that you have done your 
duty to your own court, and exerted yoin-sc!f with sincere good 
will to promote that pacification, which circumstances out of 
your reach to foresee, or to controul, seem for the present to 
have suspended. And now, Sir, you \\ill he pleased to take in 
good part what I have to say to you with regard to your claims 
for indemnification on the score of your expenses, in v.'hich I 
have i-eason to apprehend you will find yourself abandoned and 
deceived by your employers. I liave it therefore in command 
to teli you, that the King my Soveix-ign has taken this into his 
gracious consideration, aiul tenders to you through me full and 
ample compensation for all expenses, v»'hich you have incurrea 
by your coming into Spain ; being unwilling that a gentleman, 
who has resorted to his court, and put himself under his imme- 
diate protection, without a public character, honestly endeav- 
ouring to promote the mutual good and benefit of both coun- 
tries, should suffer, as you surely will do, if you withstand the 
offer, which I have now the honour to make known to you — ." 

What I said in answer to this generous, but inadmissible offer, 
I shall make no parade of; it is enough to say that I did not 
accept a single dollar from the King of Spain, or any in authori- 
ty under him, which, as far as a negative can be proved, was 
made clear, when upon my journey homewards my bills were 
stopped, and my credit so completely bankrupt, that I might 
have gone to prison at Bayonnc, if I had not borrowed five 
hundred pounds of my friendly fellow-traveller Marchetti, 
which enabled me to pay my way through France and reach my 
own country. 

^ How it came to pass that my circumstances should be so 
well known to Count Florida Bianca is easily accounted for, 
when the dishonouring of m.y bills by Mr. Devisme at Lisbon, 
through whose hands the Spanish banker passed them, was no- 
torious to more than half Madrid, and could not be unknown 
to the minister. The fact is, that I had come into Spain with- 



2;T2 MEMOIRS OF 

out any other security than the good faith of government, upon 
promise, pledged to me through Mr. Robinson, secretary of the 
treasury, that all bills drawn by me upon my banker in Pall 
Mall, should be instantly replaced to my credit, upon my ac- 
co!npanyin-g them with a letter of advice to the said secretary 
Robinson. This letter of advice I regularly attached to every 
draft I made upon Messrs. Crofts, Devaynes and Co. but from 
the day that I left London to the day that I returned to it, in- 
cluding a period of fQujieen..mo_nths, not a single shilling was 
replaced to my account witli my bankers, who persisted in ad- 
vancing to my occasions with a liberality and confidence in my 
honour, that I must ever reflect upon with the warmest grati- 
tude. If I was improvident in relying upon these assurances, 
they, who made them, were inexcusable in lireaking them, and 
betraying me into unmerited distress. I solemnly aver that I 
had the positive pledge of Treasury through Mr. Robinson for 
replacing every draft I should make upon my banker, and a very 
large sum v.'as named, as applicable at my discretion, if the ser- 
vice should require it. I could explain this further, but I for- 
bear. I had one thousand pounds advanced to me upon setting 
out; my private credit supplied .every farthing beyond that ; 
for the truth of which i need only to refer the reader to the fol- 
lowing letter — 

" To John Robinson Esquire, Sec. 

« Madrid, 8th of March, 1781. 
" Sir, 

" My banker informs me of a difficulty, which has arisen in re- 
placing the bills, whicli I have had occasion to draw upon him 
for the expenses of my commission at this court. 

" As I have not had the honour of hearing from you on this 
subject, and as it does not appear that he had seen you, when 
he wrote to me, the alarm, which such an event would else have 
given me, is mitigated by this consideration, as I am sure there 
can be no intention in government to disgrace me at this court 
in a commission, undertaken on my part without any other stip- 
ulation than tiiat of defraying my expenses. I flatter m.yself 
therefore that you have before this done what is needful in con- 
formity to what was settled on our parting. Suffer me to add, 
that by the partition I have made of my otfice with the gentle- 
man, who executes it, by the expenses preparatory to my jour- 
ney, all which I took on myself, and by many others since my 
departure, which I have not thought proper to put to the pub- 
lic account, I have greatly burdened my private affairs during 
my attendance on the business lam engaged in. 

" That I have regulated my family here for the space of near 
a twelvemonth with all possible oeconomy upon a scale in every 
lespect as private, and void of ostentation, as possible, is note- 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 23?. 

.ious to all who kno# me here ; but a man must also know this 
court and country to judge what the current charges of my sit- 
uation must inevitably be ; what the occas'mml ones have been 
can only be explained by myself; and as I can clearly make it 
appear, that I have neither misapplied the money, nor abused 
the trust of government in any instance, I cannot merit,_and I 
am persuaded I shall not experience, any misunderstanding or 
unkindness. 

« I have the honour to be, &c. &c. 

" R. C." 

I might have spared myself the trouble of this humiliating ap- 
peal. It produced just what it should produce — nothing ; tor 
it was addressed to the feelings of those who had no feelings; 
and called for justice, where no justice was, no mercy, no com- 
passion, honour or good faith. 

I wearied the door of Lord North till his very servants drove 
me from it. I withstood the offer of a benevolent monarch, 
whose munificence would have rescued me; and I embraced 
ruin in my own country to preserve my honour as a subject of 
it ; selling every acre of my hereditary estate, jointured on my 
wife by marriage settlement, who generously concurred in the 
sacrifice, v.'hich my improvident reliance upon the faith of gov- 
ernment compelled me to make. 

But I ought to speak of these things with more moderation, 
so many years having passed, and so many of the parties hav- 
ing died, since they took place. In prudence and propriety 
these pages ought not to have seen the light, till the writer of 
them was no more ; neither would they, could I have persisted 
in my resolution for withholding them, till that event had con- 
signed them into other hands ; but there is something para- 
mount to prudence and propriety, which wrests them from 
me — ■■% 

My poferty, but not my cyi//, consents. 

The copy-right of these Memoirs produced to me the sum of 
five hundred pounds, and if, through the candour and protec- 
tion of a generous public, they shall turn out no bad bargain to 
the purchaser, I shall be most sincerely thankful, and my con- 
science will be at rest — but I look back, and find myse!f still at 
Madrid, though on the point of my departure. — On the 15th of 
March I write to the Earl of Hillsborough as follows, viz. 

" My Lord, 

" On the llth instant I had the honour of your lordship's 

letter, dated the 14th of February, and in obedience to his 

majesty's commands, therein signined, I took occasion on the 

same day of demanding my passports of the minister of Spain. 

U 2 



234 MEMOIRS OF 

Agreeably to the indulgence, granted me by His Majesty, I yes. 
terday ti)ok leave of Count Fiorida Blanca at the Pardo, and this 
jy my family presented themselves to the Princess of Asturias 
at the convent of Santo Domingo el Real, who received their 
parting acknowledgments with many expressions of kindness 
and condescension. I am to see the King of Spain on Sunday, 
and expect to leave Madrid on Tuesday or Wednesday next. 

" The ambassador of France having in the most obliging man- 
ner given me a passport, and your lordship's letter containing 
no directions to the contrary, I propose to return by Bayonne 
and Bourdeaux, to which route I am compelled by the state of 
my health, and that of part of my family. 

" I have the honour to be, Sec. &c. 

« R. C." 

*< I hope your lordship has received my letter No. 18, also 
those numbered 20 and21, which conclude what I havewritten." 

To the sub-minister Campo, who had been confidential 
throughout, and present at almost every conference I had held 
with tlie Premier, I wrote as follows — 

" Madrid, March 20th, 1781. 
" You have done all things, my dear Sir, with the greatest 
kindness and the politest attention. I have your passports, and 
as my baggage is now ready to be inspected, I wait the directions 
of the Minister Musquiz, which I pi'ay you now to dispatch. 
To-morrow in the forenoon at 11 o'clock, or any other hour 
more convenient to the officers of the customs will suit me to 
attend upon them. 

" You tell me that no more could be done for me, were I 
an ambahsador ; I am per&uaded of it, for being as I am, a de- 
pendant on your detection, and entrusted to you by my coun- 
try, how can I doubt but that the Spanish point of honour will 
concede to me not less, (and I should not wonder if it granted 
more) than any ambassador can claim by privilege. 

" I have never ceased to feel a perfect confidence in my situa- 
tion, nor ever wished for any other title to all the rights of hos- 
pitality and protection, than what I derive from the trust, 
which my court has consigned to me, and that which I repose 
in yours. 

" I bring this letter in my pocket to the Pardo, lest you 
should not be visible at the hour I shall arrive. I beg to recom- 
mend to you the case of the English prisoners, who have un- 
dersigned the inclosed paper. 

" 1 hope to set out on Friday ; be assured I shall carry with 
me a lasting remembrance of your obliging favours^ and I shall 
ar-Jently seize every occasion in my future \ik of expressing a 
dv.c ber.re of thera. 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 235 

* 

" If your leisure serves to favour us with another visit at 

Madrid, we shall be happy to see you, and I shall be glad t' 
confer with you on the subject of the Spanish prisoners, ah^ 
apprize you of the language I shall hold on that topic upon 
my return home. 

" On all occasions, and in every place I shall conscientiously 
adhere to truth. Let me say for the last time I shall speak of 
myself, that no man ever entered Spain witli a more conciliat- 
ing disposition, and I hope I leave behind me some proofs of 
patience. 

" Farewel ! ever faithfully yours, 

« R. C." 

On the 24th of March, ] 781, having taken a last painful leave 
of the worthy Abbe Curtis and the rest of my friend,-, at half 
past ten in the forenoon I set out upon my journey. My par- 
ty consisted of my wife, my two eldest daughters and my in- 
fant danghter, born in Spain, at the breast of a Spanish nurse, a 
wild but affectionate creature, native of San Andero : the good 
Marchetti and the poor redeemed prisoner Antony Smith ac- 
companied us, and we had three English servants, two of 
which, (Thomas Camis and Mary Samson) had been in my 
family from their earliest years, and have never since served any 
other master. Two Spanish coaches, drawn by six mules each, 
with mules for our out-riders, constituted our travelling equip- 
age and I contracted for their attending upon ustoBayonne. — 
They are heavy clumsy carriages, but they carry a great deal of 
baggage, and if the traveller has patience to put up with their 
very early hours and slow pace, there is nothing eke to com- 
plain of. 

Madrid, which may be considered as the capital of Spain, 
though it is not a city, disappoints you if you expect to find 
suburbs, or villas, or even gardens when you have passed the 
gates, being almost as closely environed with a desart as Pal- 
myra is in its present state of ruin. The Spaniards themselves 
have no great taste for cultivation, and the attachment to the 
chase, which seems to be the reigning passion of the Spanish 
sovereigns, conspires with the indolence of the people in suf- 
fering every royal residence to be surrounded by a savage and 
unseemly wilderness. The lands, which should contribute to 
supply the markets, being thus delivered over to waste and 
barrenness, are considered only a.s pres^nves for game of various 
sorts, which includes every thing the gun can slay, and these 
are as much res sacra; as the altars, or the monks, wlio serve 
them. This solitudo ante ostium did not contribute to support 
our spirits, neither did the incessant jingling of the mules' bells 
relieve the tcedium of the road to Guadarama, where we were 
agreeably surprised by the Counts Kaimitz and Pietra Santa, 
who passed that night in our company, and next morning with 



236 MEMOIRS OF 

many friendly adieus departed for Madrid, never to meet again— 

Animas quels candid'iores 
Nusquam terra tulit — 

The next day we passed the mountains of Guadarama by a 
magnificent causeway, and entered Old Castile. Here the 
country began to change for the better ; the town of Villa 
Castin presents a very agreeable spectacle, being new and flour- 
ishing, with a handsome house belonging to the Maixhioness of 
Torre-Manzanares, who is in part proprietor of the town. This 
illustrious lady was just now under a temporary cloud for hav- 
ing been party in a frolic with the young and animated Duch- 
ess of Alva, who had ventured to exhibit her fair person on the 
public parade in the character of postillion to her own equip- 
age, whilst Torre-Manzanares, mounted the box as coachman, 
and other gallant spirits took their stations behind as footmen, 
all habited in the splendid blue and silver liveries of the house 
of Alva. In some countries a whim like this would have pass- 
ed off with eclat, in many with impunity, but in Spain, under 
the government of a moral and decorous monarch, it was re- 
garded in so grave a light, that, although the great lady postil- 
lion escaped with a reprimand, the lady coachman was sent to 
her castle at a distance from the capital, and doomed to do 
penance in solitude and obscurity. 

We were now in the country for the Spanish wool, and this 
place being a considefiable mart for that valuable article, is fur- 
nished with a very large and commodious shearing-house. 
We slept at a poor little village called San Chidrian, and being 
obliged to change our quarters on account of other travellers, 
who had been before-hand with us, we were fain to put up with 
the wretclied accommodations of a very wretched posada. 

The third day's journey presented to us a fine champaign 
country, abounding in corn and well peopled. Leaving the 
town of Arebalo, which made a respectable appearance, on our 
right, we proceeded to Almedo, a very remarkable place, being 
surrounded with a Moorish wall and towers in very tolerable 
preservation ; Almedo also has a fine convent and a handsome 
church. 

The fourth day's journey, being March the 27th, still led us 
through a fair country, rich in corn and wine. The river Adaga 
runs through a grove of pines in a deep channel very romantic, 
wandering through a vast tract of vineyards without fences. 
The weather was serene and fresh, and gave us spirits to enjoy 
the scenery, which was new and striking. We dined at Val- 
destillas, a mean little town, and in the evening reached Valla- 
dolid, where bigotry may be said to have established its head 
quarters. The gate of the city, which is of modern construc- 
tion, consists of three arches of equal span, and that very nar- 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. i:S7 

row ; the centre of tnese is elevated with a tribune, and upon 
that is placed a pedestrian statue of Carlos III. This gate de- 
livers you into a spacious square, surrounded by convents and _ 
churches, and passing this, which ofl'ers nothing attractive to 
delay you, you enter the old gate of the city, newly painted in 
bad fresco, and ornamented with an equestrian statue of the 
reigning king with a Latin inscriription, very just to his virtues, 
but very little to the honour of the writer of it. You now find 
yourself in one of the most gloomy, desolate and dirty towns, 
that can be conceived, the great square much resembling that 
of tlie Plaza-mayor in Madrid, the houses painted in grotesque 
fresco, despicably executed, and the whole in miserable condi- 
tion. I was informed that the convents amount to between 
thirty and forty. There is both an English and a Scotish col- 
lege ; the former under the government of Doctor Shepherd, a 
man of very a;;recable, cheerful, natural manners : I became 
acquainted with him at Madrid through the introduction of my 
friend Doctor Geddes, late Principal of the latter college, but 
since Bishop of Mancecos, Missionary and Vicar General at 
Aberdeen. I had an iniroductory letter to the Litendant, but 
my stay was too short to avail myself of it ; and I visited no 
cluirch but the great cathedral of the Benedictines, where Mass 
was celebrating, and the altars and whole edifice were array- 
ed in all their splendour. The fathers were extremely polite, 
and allowed me to enter the Sacristy, v>'here I saw some valua- 
ble old paintings of the early Spanish masters, some of a later 
date, and a series of Benedictine Saints, who if tliey are not the 
most rigid, are indisputably the richest, order of Religious in 
Spain. 

Our next day's journey advanced us only six short leagues, 
and set us down in the ruinous town of Duenas, which like 
Olmedo is surrounded by a Moorish fortification, the gate of 
which is entire. The Calasseros, obstinate as their mules, ac- 
cord to you in nothing,but in admitting indiscriminately a load 
of baggage, that would almost revolt a waggon, and this is in- 
dispensible, as you must carry beds, provisions, cooking ves- 
sels, and every article for rest and sustenance, not excepting 
bread, for in this country an inn means a hovel, in which you 
may light a fire, if you can defend your right to it, and find a 
dunghill called a bed, if you can submit to lie down in it. 

Our sixth day's stage brought us to the banks of the Douro, 
which we skirted and kept in sight during the whole day from 
Duenas through Torrequemara to Villa Rodrigo. The stone- 
bridge at Torrequemara is a noble edifice of eight and twenty 
arches. The windings of this beautiful river and its rocky banks, 
of which one side is always very steep, are romantic and present 
fine shapes of nature, to which nothing is wanting but trees, 
and they not always. The vale, through which it flows, inclo- 
sed within these reeky clifls, is lu:iuriaut iu corn and wine ; the 



238 MEMOIRS OF 

soil in general of a fine loam mixed with grave!, and the fallows 
remarkably clean ; they deposit their wine in caves hollowed 
out of the rocks. In the mean time it is to the bounty of na- 
ture rather than to the care and industry of man, that the inhab- 
itant, squalid and loathsome in his person, is beholden for that 
produce, which invites exertion?,that he never makes, and points 
to comforts, that he never tastes. In the midst of all these 
scenes of plenty you encounter human misery in its worst at- 
tire, and ruined villages amongst luxuriant vineyards. Such a 
bountiful provider is God, and so improvident a steward is his 
vicegerent in this realm. 

It should seem, that in this valley, on the banks of the ferti- 
lizing Douro, would be the proper scite for the capital of Spain ; 
whereas Madrid is seated on a barren soil, beside a meagre 
stream, which scarce suffices to supply the washer-women, who 
make their troughs in the shallow current, which only has the 
appearance of a river, when the snow melts upon the moun- 
tains, and turns the petty Manzanares, tJjat just trickles through 
the sand, into a roaring and impetuous torrent. Of the envi- 
rons of Madrid I have already spoken, and the climate on the 
northern side of the Guadaranias is of a much superior and 
more salubrious quality, being not so subject to the dangerous 
extremes of heat and cold, and much oftener refreshed with 
showers, the great desideratum, for which the monks of Mad- 
rid so frequently importune their poor helpless saint Isidore, 
and make him feel their vengeance, whilst for months together 
the unrelenting clouds will not credit him with a single drop of 
rain. 

Upon our road this day we purchased three lambs at the price 
of two pisettes (shillings) a-piece, and, little as it was, we hardly 
could be said to have had value for our money. Our worthy 
Marchetti, being an excllent engineer, roasted them whole with 
surprising expedition and address in a kitchen and at a fire, 
which would have puzzled all the resources of a French cook, 
and which no English scullion v/ould have approached in her 
very worst apparel. A crew of Catalunian carriers at Torre- 
quemara disputed our exclusive title to th^^ fire, and with their 
arrot a la Valenciana would soon have ruined our roast, if our 
gallant provedor had not put aside his capa, and displayed his 
two epaulets, to which military insignia the sturdy interlopers 
instantly deferred. 

There is excellent morality to be learnt in a journey of this 
*ort. A supper at Villa Rodrigo is a better corrective for fas- 
tidiousness and false delicacy than all that Seneca and Epictetus 
can administer, and if a traveller in Spain will carry justice and 
fortitude about him, the Calasseros will teach him patience, 
and the Posadas will enure him to temperance ; having these 
four cardinal virtues in possession, he has the whole ; all Tal- 
ly's offices can't find a fifth. 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 239 

On the seventh day^of our travel we kept the pleasant Douro 
still in sight. Surely this river plays his natural sovereign a slip- 
pery trick ; rises in Galicia, is nourished and maintained in his 
course through Spain, and as soon as he is become mature in 
depth and size for trade and navigation, deserts and throws 
himself into the service of Portugal. This is the case with the 
Tagus also: this river affords the Catholic King a little angling 
for small fry at Aranjuez, and at Lisbon becomes a magnificent 
harbour to give wealth and splendour to a kingdom. The 
Oporto wines, that grow upon the banks of the Douro in itsre- 
negado course, find a ready and most profitable vent in Eng- 
land, whilst the vineyards of Castile languish from want of a 
purchaser, and in some years are absolutely cast away, as not 
paying for the labour of making them into wine. 

The city and castle of Burgos are well situated on the banks 
of the river Relancon. Two fine stone-bridges are thrown over 
that stream, and several plantations of young trees line the roads 
as you approach it. The country is well watered, and the heights 
iurnish excellent pasture for sheep, being of a ligiit downy soil. 
The cathedral church of Burgos desen'cs the notice and admi- 
ration of every traveller, and it was with sincere regret I found 
myself at leisure to devote no more than one hour to an edifice, 
that requires a day to examine it within side and without. It is 
of that order of Gothic, which is most profusely ornamented 
and enriched ; the towers are crowned with spires of pierced 
stone-work, raised upon arches, and laced all through with open- 
work like filligree: the windows and doors are embellished 
with innumerable figures, admirably carved in stone, and in 
perfect preservation ; the dome over the nave is superb, and 
behind the grand altar there is a spacious and beautiful chapel, 
erected by a Duke of Frejas, who lies entombed with his duchess 
with a stately monunient recumbent with tiieir heads resting 
upon cushions, in their robes and coronets, well sculptured in 
most exquisite marble of the purest white. The bas-relieves at 
the back of the grand altar, representing passages in the life and 
and actions of our Saviour, are wonderful samples of sculpture, 
and the carrying of the cross in particular is expressed with all 
the delicacy of Raphael's famous P isma de Sicilia. The stalls 
of the choir in brown oak are finely executed and exhibit an in- 
numerable groupe of figiu-es : whilst the seats are ludicrously in- 
laid with grotesque representations of fauns aud satyrs unac- 
countably contrasted with the sacred history of the carved 
work, that encloses them. The altars, chapels, sacristy and 
cloisters are equally to be admired, nor are there wanting some' 
fine paintings, though not profusely bestowed. The priests 
conducted me through every part of the cathedral with the 
kindest attention and politenesss, though Mass was then in high 
celebration. 

When I was on my departure, and my carriage* \"<?ve in wait . 



i:io MEMOIRS OF 

ing, a parcel of British seamen, who baa been prisoners of war, 
most importunately besought me, that I would ask their liber- 
ation of the Bishop of Burgos, and allow them to make their 
way out of the country under my protection. This good bishop, 
in his zeal for making converts, had taken these fellows upon 
their word into his list of pensioners, as true proselytes, and al- 
lowed them, to establish themselves in various occupations and 
callings, which they now professed themselves most heartily 
disposed to abandon, and doubted not but I should find him as 
willing to release them, as they were to be set free. Though I 
gave little credit to their assertions, I did not refuse to make 
the experiment, and wrote to the bishop in their behalf, promis- 
ing to obtain the release of the like number of Spanish prisoners, 
if he would allow me to take these men away with mc . To my 
great surprise 1 instantly received his free consent and permit 
vmder his hand and seal to dispose of them as I saw fit. This I 
accordingly did, and by occasional reliefs upon the braces of 
my carriages marched my party of renegadoes entire into Bay- 
onne, Vvhere I got leave upon certain conditions to embark them 
on board a neutral ship bound to Lisbon, and consigned them 
to Commodore Johnstone, or the commanding officer for the 
time being, to be put on board, and exchanged for the like num- 
ber of Spanish prisoners which accordingly was done with the 
exception of one or two, who turned aside by the way. I have 
reason to believe the good bishop was thoroughly sick of his 
converts, and I encountered no opposition from the ladies, 
whom two or three of them had taken to wi re. 

We pursued our eighth day's journey over a deep rich soil, 
with mountains in sight covered with snow, which had fallen 
two days before. T'here v/as now a icene of more wood, and 
tlie face of the country much resembled parts of England. We 
advanced but seven leagues, the river Relancon accompanying 
lis for the last three, where our road was cut out of the side of 
a steep cliff, very narrow, and so ill defended, that in many pla- 
ces the precipice, consideri.ig the mode, in which the Spanish 
Calasseros drive, was seriously alarming. The wild woman of 
San Andero, who nursed m.y infant, during this day's journey 
was at high words with the witches, who twice pulled off her 
redecilla, and otherwise annoyed her in a very provoking man- 
ner till we arrived at Breviesca, a tolerable good Spanish town, 
where they allowed her to repose, and we heard no more of 
them. 

From Breviesca we travelled through a fine picturesque 
country of a rich soil to Pancon'o at the foot of a sttrep range 
of rocky mcuntdins, and ras'-ing through a most romantic fis- 
sure in the rock, a work of great art and labour, we reached 
the river Ebro, \^^_ich forms the boundary of Old Castile. 
Upon this river s+^'k'.". the town of Miranda, which is approach- 
ed over a. new bridge of seven stone arches and we lodged our- 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 241 

selves for the night in the posada at the foot of it : a house of 
the worst reception we had met in Spain, which is giving it as 
ill a name as I can well bestow upon any house wliatever. 

A short stage brought us from Breviesca to the town of Vit- 
toria, the capital of Alaba, which is one portion of the delight- 
ful province of Biscay. We were now for the first time lodg- 
ed v/ith some degree of comfort. We shewed our passport at 
the custom-house, and the administrator of the post-office hav- 
ing desired to have imm.ediate notice of our arrival, I requested 
my friend Marchetti to go to him, and in the mean time poor 
Smith passed a very anxious interval of suspense, fearing that he 
might be stopped by order of government in this place, (a sus- 
picion I confess not out of the range of probabilities) but it 
proved to be only a punctilio of the Sub-minister Campo, who 
had written to this gentleman to be particular in his attentions 
to us, inclosing his card, as if in person present to take leave ; 
this mark of politeness on his part produced a present from the 
administrator of some fine asparagus, and excellent sweatmeats, 
the produce of the country, with the further favour of a visit 
from the donor, a gentleman of great good manners and much 
respectability. 

The Marquis Legarda, Governor of Vittoria, to whom I had 
a letier from Count D'Yranda, the Marquis D'AUamada, and 
other gentlemen of the place, did us the honour to visit us, and 
■were extremely polite. We were invited by the Dominicans to 
their convent, and saw some very excjuisite paintings of Ribeira 
and Murillo. At noon we took our departure for Mondragone, 
passing through a country of undescribable beauty. The scale 
is vast, the heights are lofty without being tremendous, the cul- 
tivation is of various sorts, and to be traced in every spot, whei^e 
the hand of industry can reach ; a profusion of fruit trees in 
blossom coloured the landscape with such vivid and luxuriant 
tints, that we had new charms to admire upon every shift and 
wmding of the road. The people are laborious, and the fields 
being full of men and women at their work (for here both sex- 
es make common task) nothing could be more animated than 
the scenery ; 'twas not in human nature to present a stronger 
contrast to the gloomy character and squalid indolence of the 
Castilians. And what is it, which constitutes this marked dis- 
tinction between such near neighbours, subjects of the same 
King, and separated from each other only by a narrow stream ? It 
is because the regal power, which in Castile is arbitrary, is limit- 
ed by local iaw» in Catalunia, and gives passage for one ray of 
liberty to visit that happier and more enlightened country. 

From Mondragone we went to Villa Franca, where we dined, 
and faiished our tv»'eifih day's journey at Tolosa ; the country 
still presented a, succession of the most enchanting scenery, but 
I was now become insensible to its beauties, being so extreme- 
ly ill, that it was not without much diiF.culty, so excruciating 
W 



fi42 MEMOIRS OF 

were my pains, that I reached Tolosa. Here I staid three days, 
and when 1 found my fever would not yield to James's powder, 
I resolved to attempt getting to Bayonne, where I might hope to 
find medical assistance, and better accommodation. 

On the seventeenth day, after suffering tortures from the 
roughness of the roads, I reached Bayonne, and immediately put 
myself under the care of Doctor Vidal, a Huguenot physician. 
Here I passed three miserable weeks, and though in a state of 
almost continual delirium throughout the whole of this time, 
I can yet recollect that under Providence it is only owing to 
the unwearied care and tender attentions of my ever-watchful 
vrife, (assisted by her faithful servant Mary Samson) that I was 
kept alive ; from her hands I consented to receive sustenance 
and medicine, and to her alone in the disorder of my senses I 
was uniformly obedient. 

It was at this period of time that the aggravating news arri- 
ved of my bills being stopped, and my person subjected to ar- 
rest. I was not sensible to the extent of my danger, for death 
hurig over me, and threatened to supersede all arrests but of a 
lifeless corpse : the kind heart however of Marchetti had com- 
passion for my disconsolate condition, and he found means to 
supply me with live hundred pounds, as I have already related. 
It pleased God to preserve my life, and this seasonable act of 
friendship preserved my liberty. The early fruits of the season, 
and the balmy temperature of the air in that delicious climate, 
aided the exertions of my physician, and I was at length ena- 
bled to resume my journey, taking a day's rest in the magnificent 
town of Bourdeaux, from whence through Tours, Blois and 
Orleans I proceeded to Paris, which however I entered in a 
state as yet but doubtfully convalescent, emaciated to a skele- 
ton, the bones of my back and elbows still bare and staring 
through my skin. 

I had both Florida Blanca's and Count Montmorin's passports, 
but my applications for post-horses were in vain, and here I 
should in all probability have ended my career, as I- felt myself 
relapsing apace, had I not at length obtained the long-withheld ^ 
permission to pass onwards. They had pounded the King of 
Spain's horses also for the space of a whole month, but these 
were liberated when I got my freedom, and I embarked them at 
Ostend, from whence I took my passage to Margate, and ar- 
rived at my house in Portland-Place, destined to experience 
treatment, which I had not merited, and encounter losses, I 
have never overcome. 

I will here simply relate an incident without attempting to 
draw any conjectures from it, which is, that whilst I laid ill at. 
Bayonne, insensible, and as it was supposed at the point of 
death, the very monk, who had been so troublesome to me at 
Elvas, found his way into my chamber, and upon the alarm 
given by my wife, v.ho perlrctiy recognized his person, was' 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 24s 

«nly driven out of it b^'^force. Again when I was in Paris, and 
about to sit down to dinner, a sallad was brought to me by tlie 
lacquey, who waited on me, which was given to him for me by 
a red-haired Dominican, whose person according to his descrip- 
tion exactly tallied with that of the aforesaid monk ; I dispatch- 
ed my servant Camis in pursuit of !iim, but he had escaped, and 
jny suspicon of the sallad being poisoned was conhrmed by ex- 
periment on a dog. 

I shall only add that somewhere in Castile, T forget the place, 
but it was between Valladolid and Burgos, as I was sitting on a 
bench at the door of a house, where my calasseros were giving 
water to the mules, I tendered my snLiir-l)ox to a grave elderly 
man, who seemed of the better sort of Castilians, and who ap- 
peared to have thrown himself in my w;iy, sitting down beside 
me as one who invited conversation. The stranger looked stead- 
ily in my face, and after a pause put his lingers into my box, 
and, taking a very small portion of my snuff between them, 
said to me — " I am not afraid. Sir, of trusting myself to yon, 
whom I knowto be an Englishman, and a person, in whose hon- 
our I may perfectly repose. But there is death concealed in 
many a man's snuff-box, and I wonld seriously advise you on no 
account to take a single pinch from the box of any stranger, 
who may offer it to you ; and if you liave done that already, I 
sincerely hope no such consequences as I allude to will result 
from your want of caution." I continued in conversation with 
this stranger for some time; I told him I had never before been 
apprised of the practices he had spoken of, and, being perfectly 
without suspicion, I might, or might not, have exposed myself 
to the danger, he was now so kind as to apprise me of, but I 
observed to him that however prudent it might be to guard 
myself against such evil practices in other countries, I should 
not expect to meet them in Castile, where t.ie Spanish point of 
honour most decidedly prevailed. " Ah, Senor," he replied, 
" they may not all be Spaniards, whom you have chanced up- 
on, or shall hereafter chance upon, in Castile." When I asked 
him how this snutf operated on those who took it, liis answer 
was, as I expected — " On the brain." I was not curious to en- 
quire who this stranger was, as I paid little attention to iiis in- 
formation at the time, though I confess it occurred to me, when 
after a few days I was seized with such agonies in my head, as 
deprived me of my senses : I merely give this anecdote, as it 
occuJTed ; I draw no inferences from it. 

I have now done with Spain, and if the detail, which I have 
truly given of my proceedings, whilst I was there in tru:-t, may 
serve to justify me in the opinion of those, who i-ead these Me- 
moirs, I will not tire their patience with a dull recital of my 
unprofitable efforts to obtain a just and equitable indemnltica- 
tion for my expenses according to agreement. The evidences 
indeed are in my hands, and the production of them would he 



244 MEMOIRS OF 

highly discreditable to the memory of some, who are now no 
more ; but redress is out of my reach ; the time for that is long 
since gone by, and has carried me on so far towards the hour, 
which must extinguish all human feelings, that there can be lit- 
tle left for me to do but to employ the remaining pages of this 
histor/ in the best manner I can devise, consistently with strict 
veracity, for the satisfaction of those, who may condescend to 
peruse them, and to whom I s'.iould be above measure sorry to 
.-appear in the character of a querulous, discontented and re- 
stntful old man ; I rather hope that when I shall have laid be- 
fore them a detail of literary labours, such as few have executed 
within a period of the like extent, they will credit me for my 
industry, at least, and allow me to possess some claim upon the 
ravour of posterity as a man, who in honest pride of conscience 
has not let his spirit sink under oppression and neglect, nor suf- 
fered his good v/ill to mankind, or his zeal for his country's 
service and the honour of his God, to experience intermission 
or abatement, nor made old age a plea for insolence, or an apol- 
ogy for ill humour. 

Nevertheless, as I have charged my employers with a direct 
breach of faith, it seems necessary for my more perfect vindica- 
tion, to support that charge by an official document, and this 
consideration will I trust be my sufficient apology for inserting 
the following statement of my claim 

«* To the Right Honourable Lord North, Sec. &c. &c." 

" The humble Memorial of Richard Cumberland 
« Sheweth, 

"jThat your Memorialist in April 1 780, received His Maj- 
esty's most secret and confidential orders and instructions to 
set out for the Court of Spain in company with the Abbe Hus- 
sey, one of his Catholic Majesty's chaplains, for the purpose of 
negociating a separate peace with that court. 

" That to render the object of this commission more secret, 
your Memorialist was directed to take his family with him to 
Lisbon, under the pretence of recovering the health of one of 
his daughters, which he accordingly did, and having sent the 
Abbe Hussey before him to the Court of Spain, agreeably to 
the King's instructions, your Memorialist and his family soon 
after repaired to Aranjuez, where his Catholic Majesty then 
kept his court. 

" That your Memorialist upon setting out on this important 
undertaking received by the hands of John Robinson, Esquire, 
one of the secretaries of the Treasury, the sum of one thousand 
pounds on account, with directions how he should draw, 
through the channel of Poitugal, upon his banker in England 
for such farther sums as might be necessaiy, (particularly lor 
a large discretionary sum to be employed, as occasion might 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 245^ 

require in secret sen^ices) and your Memorialist was directed 
to accompany his drafts by a Separate letter to Mr. Secretary 
Robinson, advising him what sum or sums he had given order 
for, that the same might be replaced to your Memorialiit's 
credit with the bank of Messieurs Crofts and Co. in Pall Mall. 

" That your Memorialist in the execution of this commis- 
sion, for the space of nearly fourteen months, defrayed the ex- 
penses of the Abbe Hussey's separate journey into Spain, paid 
all charges incurred by him during four months residence there, 
and supplied him with money for his return to England, no 
part of which has been repaid to your Memorialist. 

" That your Memorialist with his family took two very long 
and expensive journics, (the one by way of Lisbon and the 
other through France) no consideration for which has been 
granted to him. 

" That your Memorialist, during his residence in Spain, was 
obliged to follow the removals of the court to Aranjuez, San 
Ildefonso, the Escurial and Madrid, besides frequent visits 
to the Pardo ; in all which places, except the Pardo, he was 
obliged to lodge himself, the expense of which can only be 
known to those, who in the service of their court have in- 
curred it. 

" That every ailicle of necessary expense, being inordinately 
high in Madrid, your Memorialist, without assuming any vain 
appearance of a minister, and with as much domestic frugality 
as possible, incurred a very heavy charge. 

" That your Memorialist having no courier with him, nor 
•iny cypher, was obliged to employ his own servant in that 
trust, and the servant of Abbe Hussey, at his ovni proper cost, 
no part of wnich has been repaid to him. 

" That your Memorialist did at considerable charge obtain 
papers and documents containing information of a very import- 
ant nature, which need not here be enumerated ; of whicli 
charge so incurred no part has been repaid. 

" That upon the capture of the East and West India ships 
by the enemy, your Memorialist \yas addressed by many of the 
British prisoners, some of whom he relieved v/ith money, and 
in all cases obtained the prayer of their memorials. Your Me- 
morialist also, th.roLigh the favour of the Bishop of i?urgos, look 
with him out of Spain some valuable British seamen, '^a::'d re- 
stored them to His Majesty's fleet ; and this also he did at liis 
own cost. 

" Tiiat your Memorialist during his residence in Spain was 
indispensibly obliged to cover these his unavoidable expenses 
by several drafts upon his banker to the amount of 4500/. of 
yvhich not one single bill h;is been replaced, nor one farthing 
issued to his support during fourteen months exp.^nsive and la- 
borious duty ni the King's immediate and most confidential 
service ; the consequence of which unparalleled treatment was, 
W 2 



246 MEMOIRS OF 

that your Memorialist was stopped and arrested at Bayonneby 
order from his remittancers at Madrid ; in this agonizing situa- 
tion your Memorialist, being then in the height of a most vio- 
lent fever, surrounded by a family of helpless women in an ene- 
my's country, and abandoned by his employers, on whose faith 
he had relied, found himself incapable of proceeding on his 
journey, and destitute of means for subsisting where he was : 
under this accumulated distress he must have sunk and expired, 
had not the generosity of an officer in the Spanish service, who 
had accompanied him into France, supplied his necessities with 
the loan of five hundred pounds, and passed the King of Great- 
Britain's bankrupt servant into his own country, for which hu- 
mane action this friendly officer, (Marchetti by name) was ar- 
rested at Paris, and by the Count D'Aranda remanded back to 
Madrid, there to take his chance for what the influence of 
Finance may find occasion to devise against him. 

" Your Memorialist, since his return to England, having, af<- 
ter innumerable attempts, gained one only admittance to your 
lordship's person for the space of more than ten months, and 
not one answer to the frequent and humble suit he has made to 
you by letter, presumes now for the last time to solicit your 
consideration of his case, and as he is persuaded it is not, and 
cannot be, in your lordship's heart to devote and abandon to 
unmerited ruin an old and faithful servant of the crown, who 
has been the father of four sons, (one of whom has lately died, 
and three are now carrying arms in the service of their King) 
your Mem.orialist humbly prays, that you will give order for 
him to he relieved in such manner, as to your lordship's wis- 
dom shall seem meet — 

" All which is humbly submitted by 

" Your lordship's most obedient 

" And most humble servant, 

" Richard Cumberland." 

This memorial, which is perhaps too long and loaded, I am 
persuaded Lord North never took the pains to read, for I am 
irnwilling to suppose, that, if he had, he would have treated it 
with absolute neglect. He was upon the point of quitting of- 
fice when I gave it in, and being my last effort I was desirous 
tf summing up the circumstances of my case so, that ifhe had 
thought fit to grant me a compensation, this statement might 
have been a justification to his successor for the issue ; but it 
produced no compensation, though I should presume it proved 
enough to have touched the feelings of one of the best temper- 
ed men living, if he would have devoted a very few minutes to 
the perusal of it. 

It is not possible for me to call to mind a character in all es- 
sential points so amiable as that of this departed minister, and 
not wish to find some palliation for his oversights; bntifl 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 247. 

were now to say that Lacquit him of injustice to me, it would 
be affectation and hypocrisy ; at the same time I must think, 
that Mr. Secretary Robinson, who was the vehicle of the prom- 
ise, was more immediately bound to solicit and obtain the ful- 
filment of it, and this I am persuaded was completely in his 
power to do : to him therefore I addressed such remonstrances, 
and enforced them in such terms, as no manly spirit ought to 
have put up with ; but anger and high words make all things 
worse ; and language, which a man has not courage to resent, 
he never will have candour to forgive. 

When in process of time I saw and knew Lord North in his 
retirement from all public affairs, patient, collected, resigned to 
an afflicting visitation of the severest sort, when all but his il- 
luminated mind was dark around him, I contemplated an af- 
fecting and an edifying object, that claimed my admiration and 
esteem ; a man, who when divested of that incidental great- 
ness, which high office for a time can give, self-dignified and 
independent, rose to real greatness of his own creating, which 
no time can take away ; whose genius gave a grace to every 
thing he said, and whose benignity shed a lustre upon every 
thing he did ; so richly was his memory stored, and so lively 
was his imagination in applying what he remembered, that af- 
ter the great source of information was shut against himself, he 
still possessed a boundless fund of information for the instruc- 
tion and delight of others. Some hours (and those not few) of 
his society he was kind in bestowing upon me : I eagerly court- 
ed, and very highly apprized them. 

I experienced no abatement in the friendship of Lord George 
Germain ; on the contrary it was from this time chiefly to the 
day of his death, that I lived in the gi'eatest intimacy with him. 
Whilst he held the seals I continued to attend upon him 
both in public and in private, rendering him all the voluntary 
service in my power, particularly on his Levee-days, which he 
held in my apartment in the Plantation office, though he had 
ceased to preside at the Board of Trade, and here great num- 
bers of American loyalists, who had taken refuge in England, 
were in the habit of resorting to him : it was an arduous and 
delicate business to conduct : I may add it was also a business 
of some personal risque and danger, as it engaged me in very 
serious explanations upon more occasions than one. Upon 
Lord George's putting into my hands a letter he had received 
from a certain naval officer, very disrespectful towards him, and 
most unjustifiably so to me, for having brought him an answer 
to an apphcation, which he was pleased to consider as private 
and confidential, I felt myself obliged to take the letter with me 
to that gentleman, and require him to write and sign an apolo- 
gy of my own dictating ; whatever was his motive for doing 
what I peremptorily required, so it was, that to my very 
great surprise he submitted to transcribe and sign it, and when 



1^48 MEMOIRS OF 

I exhibited it to Lord George, he acknowledged it to be the 
most complete revocation and apology he had ever met with. 

There were other situations still more delicate, in which I 
occasionally became involved, but which I forbear to mention ; 
but in those unpleasant times men's passions were enflamed, 
and in every case, when reasoning would not serve to allay in- 
temperance, and explanation was lost upon them, I never scru- 
pled to abide the consequence. 

When Lord George Germain resigned the seals, the King 
was graciously pleased in reward for his services, to call him to 
the House of Lords by the title of Viscount Sackville. The 
well known circumstance, that occurred upon the event of his 
elevation to the peerage, made a deep and painful impression 
on his feeling mind, and if his seeming patience under the in- 
fliction of it should appear to merit in a moral sense the name 
of virtue, I must candidly acknowledge it as a virtue, that he 
had no title to be credited for, inasmuch as it was entirely ow- 
ing to the influence of some, who overruled his propensities, 
and made themselves responsible for his honour, that he did 
not betake himself to the same abrupt unwarrantable mode of 
dismissing this insult, as he had resorted to it in a former in- 
stance. No man can speak from a more intimate knowledge of 
his feelings upon this occasion than I can, and if I was not on 
the side of those, who no doubt spoke well and wisely when 
they spoke for peace, it is one amongst the many errors and of- 
fences, which I have yet to repent of. 

There was once a certain Sir Edward Sackville, whom the 
world has heard of, who probably would not have possessed 
himself with so much calmness and forbearance as did a late 
noble head of his family, whilst the question I allude to was in 
agitation, and he pi'esent in his place. It was by the medium 
of this noble personage that the Lord Viscount Sackville medi- 
tated to send that invitation he had prepared, when the inter- 
position and well-considered remonstrances of some of his near- 
est friends, (in particular of Lord Amherst) put him by from 
his resolve, and dictated a conduct more conformable to pru- 
dence, but much less suited to his inclination. 

The law, that is sufficient for the redress of injuries, does 
not always reach to the redress of insults ; thus it comes to 
pass, that many men, in other respects wise and just and tem- 
perate, not having resolution to be right in their own conscien- 
ces, have set aside both reason and religion, and, in compliance 
with the evil practice of the woi-ld about them, performed 
their bloody sacrifices, and immolated human victims to the 
idol ui false honour. Truth obliges me to confess that the 
friend, of whom I am speaking, though possessing one of the 
best and kindc'St hearts, that ever beat within a human breast, 
v/as with difiicul;// diverted from resorting a second time to that 
desperate remedy, which modern empirics have prescribed for 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 249 

wounds of a peculiar sort, oftentimes imaginary and always to 
be cured by patience. 

When Lord North's administration was overturned, and the 
Board of Trade, of which I was Secretary, dismissed under the 
regulations of what is commonly called Mr. Burke's Bill, I 
found myself set adrift upon a compensation, which though 
much nearer to an equivalent than what I had received upon 
my Spanish claims, was yet in value scarce a moity of what I 
was deprived of. By the operation of this reform, after I had 
sacrificed the patrimony I was born to, a very considerable re- 
duction was made even of the remnant, that was left to me : I 
lost no time in putting my family upon such an establishment, 
as prudence dictated, and fixed myself at Tunbridge Wells. 

This place, of which 1 had made choice, and in which I have 
continued to reside for more than twenty years, had much to 
recommend it, and very little, that in any degree made against 
it. It is not altogether a public place, yet it is at no period of 
the year a solitude. A reading man may command his hours 
of study, and a social man will find full gratification for his 
philanthropy. Its vicinity to the capital brings quick intelli- 
gence of all that passes there : the morning papers reach us 
before the hour of dinner, and the evening ones before break- 
fast the next day ; whilst between the arrival of the general 
post and its departure there is an interval of twelve hours ; an 
accommodation in point of correspondence that even London 
cannot boast of. The produce of the neighbouring farms and 
gardens, and the supplies of all sorts for the table are excellent 
in their quality ; the country is on all sides beautiful, and the 
climate pre-eminently healthy, and in a most peculiar degree re- 
storative to enfeebled constitutions. For myself I can say, that 
through the whole of my long residence at Tunbridge Wells I 
never experienced a single hour's indisposition, that confined 
me to my bed, though I believe I may say with truth that till 
then I had encountered as many fevers, and had as many seri- 
ous struggles for my life, as have fallen to most men's lots in 
the like terms of years. 

Some people can sit down in a place, and live so entirely to 
themselves and the small circle of their acquaintance, as to have 
little or no concern about the people, amongst whom they re- 
side. The contrary to this has ever been my habit, and where- 
soever my lot in life has cast me, something more than curios- 
ity has always induced me to mix with the mass, and interest 
myself in the concerns of my neighbours and fellow subjects, 
however humble in degree ; and from the contemplation of their 
characters, from my acquaintance with their hearts and my 
assured possession of their affections, I can truly declare that I 
have derived, and still enjoy some of the most gratifying sensa- 
tions, that reflection can bestow. The Men of Kent, properly 
6o called, are a peculiar race, well worthy of the attention ajtid 



250 MEMOIRS OF 

study of the philanthropist. There is not only a distinguish- 
ing cast of humour, but a dignity of mind and principle about 
them, which is the very clue, that will lead you into their 
hearts, if rightly understood ; but, if mistaken or misused, you 
will find them quick enough to conceive, and more than for- 
ivard enough to express, their proud contempt and resolute de- 
iiance of you. I have said in my first volume of Arundel., pige 
220, that they are — " a race distinguishable above all their fel- 
low subjects for the beauty of their persons, the dignity of their 
sentiments, the courage of their hearts, and the elegance of their 
manners — " Many years have passed since I gave this testimo- 
ny, and the full experience I have now had of the men of Kent, 
ever my kind friends, and now become my comrades and fellow 
soldiers, confirms every word that I have said, or can say, ex- 
pressive of their worthiness, or my esteem. 

The house, which I rented of Mr. John Fry, at that time mas- 
ter of the Sussex Tavern, was partly new and partly attached 
to an old foundation ; it was sufficient for ray family, and when 
I had fitted it up with part of my furniture, and all my pictures 
from Portland-place, it had more the air of comfort and less the 
appearance of a lodging house than most in the place: it wa,s 
by no means the least of its recommendations, that it was well 
appointed with offices and accommodations for those old and 
faithful domestics, who continued in my service. There was a 
.square patch of ground in front, of about half an acre, fenced 
and planted round with trees, v/hich I converted into a flower 
garden and encircled with a sand walk : it had now become the 
only lot of English terra firma, over which I had a legal right, 
and I treated it with a lover-iike attention ; it soon produced 
nie excellent waii-fruit of my own rearing, and at last I found 
a little friendly spot, the only one as yet discovered, in which 
my laurels flourished. My true and trusty servant Thomas 
Camis, (more dian ever attached, because mOre than ever neces- 
sary to me) had a passion for a flower garden, and he quickly 
made it a bed of oweets, and a display of beauty. It was now, 
unhappily for me, too evident, that the once-excellent constitu- 
tion oi my beloved wife, my best friend and under Providence 
the preserver of my life, was sinking und r the eifects, which 
her late sufferings and exertions in attending upon me, had en- 
tailed upon her : I had tried the sea-coast, and other places be- 
fore I settled here, but in this climate only could she breathe 
with freedom and experience repose : the boundary of our lit* 
tie garden was in general the boundary of her walk, and be- 
yond it her strength but rarely suffered her to expatiate : so 
long as she could have recourse to her horse, she made a strug- 
gle for fresh air and exercise, but when she had the misfortune 
to lose her favourite Spaniard, so invaluable and so wonderful- . 
ly attached to her, she despaired of replacing him, and I can 
well believe there was not in all England an animal that coul4^ 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 



.'5i 



He had belonged to tbe King of Spain, and came, by wliat 
mean^ I have forgot, into the possession of Count Joseph Kau- 
nitz, who gave him to Mrs. Cumberland : he was a most perfect 
war-horse, though upon the scale of a galloway, and whilst his 
eyes menaced every thing that was hery and rebellious, nothing 
living was more sweet and gentle in his nature : he could not 
speak, for he had not the organs of speech, but he had dog-like 
sagacity, and understood the words, that were addressed to him, 
and the caresses, that were bestowed upon him. Being entire, 
and of course prohibited from passing out of Spain, I am per- 
suaded some villainous measures were practised on the Frontiers 
towards him in his journey, for he died in agonies under so in- 
veterate a strangury, that though I applied all the remedies, 
that an excellent surgeon could suggest for his relief, nothing 
could save him, and he expired, whilst resting his head on my 
shoulder, his eyes being fixed upon me with that intelligent and 
piteous expression, which seemed to say — Can you do nothing 
to assuage my pain ? I thank God I never angrily and un- 
justifiably chastised but one horse to my remembrance, and that 
creature, (a barb given to me by Lord Halifax) never whilst it 
had life forgave me. or would be reconciled to let me ride it in 
any peace, Ihuugh it carried my wife with all imaginable gen- 
tleness. I disdain to make any apology for this prattle, nor am 
v^'iiling to ouppose it can be uninteresting to a benevolent read- 
er ; for those who are not such, I have no concern. The man, 
who is cruei lo his beast is odious, and I am inclined to think 
there may oe cruelty expressed even in the treatment of things 
inaiiiniatt- ; in short 1 believe that I am destined to die, as I 
have iivc-d, with all that family weakness about me, which will 
hardly sulter.me to chastise offence, or tell a fellow creature he 
is a rascal, for fear the intimation should give him pain. I have 
been wrongfully and hardly dealt with ; I have had my feelings 
wounded without mercy ; I declare to God I never knowingly 
wronged a fellow creature, or designedly ottendcd ; if, whilst I 
am giving my ovv-n history, I am co give my own character, this 
in few words is the trutii ; 1 am too old, too conscientious, too 
well persuaded ar.d too fearful of a judgment to come, to dare 
to go to death wiih a lie in my n'ourii : let the censors of my 
actior.s, and the scrutinizers of my thoughts, confute me, if 
they can. 

The children, who were inmate with me, when I settled at 
Tunbridge Wells, were my seconcl daughter Sophia, an : the 
infant Marianne, born to me in Spain : my three surviving sons, 
Richard, Chai'les and VViiliam, were serving in the Ist regiment 
of guards, the lOth foot and the royal navy : my eldest daugh- 
ter Elizabeth had mamed the Lord Edward Bentick,b;otherto 
the Luke of Portland, and at that time member for the county 
of Nottingham ; of him were 1 to attempt at saying what my 
experience of his character, and my aifection for his person 



252 MtMOIRS OF 

would suggest, I should only punish his sensibility, and fall far 
short of doing justice to my own : he is too well esteemed and 
beloved to need my praise, and how truly and entirely I love 
him is I trust too well known to require professions. 

I was now within an hour's ride of Stonelands, where Lord 
Sackville i-esided for part of the year, and as this was amongst 
the motives, that led me to locate myself at Tunbridge Wells, so 
it WRS always one of my chief gratifications to avail myself of my 
vicinity to so true and dear a friend. 

Being now dismissed from office I was at leisure to devote 
myself to that passion, which from my earliest youth had never 
wholly left me, and I resorted to my books and my pen, as to 
friends, who had animated me in the morning of my day, and 
were now to occupy and uphold me in the evening of it. I had 
happily a collection of books, excellent in their kind, and per- 
fectly adapted to my various and discursive course of reading. 
In almost every margin I recognized the hand-writing of my 
grandfather Bentley, and wherever I ti"aced his remains, they 
were sure guides to direct and gratify me in my fondness for 
philological researches. My mind had been harassed in a va- 
riety of ways, but the spirit, that from resources within itself 
can find a never-failing fund of occupation, will not easily be 
broken by events, that do not touch the conscience. That por- 
tion of mental energy, which nature had endowed me with, 
was not impaired ; on the contrary I took a larger and more 
various range of study than I had ever done before, and collat- 
erally with other compositions began to collect materials for 
those essays, which I afterwards compleated and made public 
imder the title of The Observer. I sought no other dissipation 
than the indulgence of my literary faculties could affoixl me, 
and in the mean tim.e I kept silence from complaint, sensible 
how ill such topics recommend a man to society in general, and 
how very nearly most men's show of pity is connected with 
contempt. 

I had already published in two volumes my Atiecdotes of em- 
inent Painters in Spain. I am flattered to believe it was an in- 
teresting and curious work to readers of a certain sort, for there 
had been no such regular history of the Spanish school in our 
language, and when I added to it the authentic catalogue of the 
jpaintings in the royal palace at Madrid, I gave the world what 
it had not seen before, as that catalogue was the first that had 
been made, and was by permission of the King of Spain under- 
taken at my request, and transmitted to me after my return to 
England. 

When these Anecdotes had been for some short time before the 
public, I was surprised to find myself airaigned for having in- 
troduced a passage in my second volume, grossly injurious to 
the reputation of Sir Joshua Reynolds, and 1 am sorry to add 
that I had reason to believe, that the misconception of my mo- 



ID. ^53 

ives tor the insertion or that passcige was adopted by Sir Josh- 
ua himself. The charge consists in my having: quoted a 
passage from a publication of Azara's, which, but for my no- 
ticing it, might have never met the observation of the English 
reader. I own I thought this charge too ridiculous to merit 
any answer, for I had not gone out of my way to seek Azara's 
publication ; it was in the shops at London, and there I chanc- 
ed upon it and purchased it. Azara was the friend of Mengs, 
ar.d treats professedly of his character and compositions. A 
work of this sort was in no degree likely to preserve its incog- 
nito, neither had it so done before it came into my hands. 

The following extract from my 2d vol. p. 206, comprises ev- 
ery word that has any reference to Sir Joshua Reynolds, and I 
am pei-suaded it cannot fail to acquit me in the judgment of 
every one, who reads it, most clearly and completely — this it 
is — " Whether Mengs really thought with contempt of art, 
which was inferior to his own, 1 will not pretend to decide ; 
but that he was apt to speak contemptuously of artists superior 
to him.self, I am inclined to believe. Azara tells us that he pro- 
nounced of the academical lectures of our Reynolds, that they 
were calculated to mislead young students into error, teaching 
nothing but those superficial principles, which he plainly avers 
are all that the author himself knows of the art he professes — 
J)e/ I'tbro moderno del Sr Reynold, Ingles, decia que es una obra, 
que puede conducir los jfuvenes al error ; posque se queda en los 
principios superjiciales, que conoce solamcnte a qiwl autor — Azara 
immediaiely proceeds to say that Mengs was of a temperament 
colerico y adusto, and that his bitter and satirical turn created 
him infui'itos agraviados y quejosos. When his historian ai^d 
friend says this, there is no occasion for me to repeat the re- 
mark. If the genius of Mengs had been capable of producing 
a composition equal to that of the tragic and pathetic Ugoiino, 
I am persuaded such a sentence a^" the above would never have 
passed his lips ; but flattery made him vain, and sickness rend- 
ered him peevish ; he found himself at Madrid in a country 
without rivals, and, because the arts had travelled out of his 
sight, he was disposed to think they existed no where but on his 
own pallet." 

If this be not sufficient for my justification I could wish any 
of my readers, who has my book within his reacli, would refer 
himself to the page in question, and read onwards till I dismiss 
the subject of Mengs with ■' ;'■ folh^wing strictares on his talents, 
dictated no doubt in that spirit of resentment, which Azara's 
anecdote above recorded had most evidently inspired ; for what 
more iiighly tinctured with asperity could be said of Mengs, 
than — " that he was an artist, who had seen much^ and invent- 
ed little ; that he dispenses neither life nor death to his figures , 
excites no terror, rouses no passions and ri-ques no Rights ; 
that by studying to avoid particular defects, he incur; general 
X 



C54 MEMOIRS OF 

ones, and paints with tamcncss and servility ; that the contract- 
ed scale and idea of a painter of miniatures, (as which he was 
brought up) is to be traced in all or most of his compositions, 
in which a finished delicacy of pencil exhibits the hand of the 
aitist, but gives no emanations of the joul of the master ? If it 
is beauty, it does not warm ; if it is sorrow, it excites no pity : 
that when the angel announces the salutation to Mary, it is a mes- 
senger, that has neither used dispatch in his errand, nor grace 
in his delivery of it ; that although Rubens was by one of his 
oracular sayings condemned to the ignominious dullness of a 
Dutch translator, Mengs was as capable of painting Rubens^ 
yldoration, as he was of creating the star in the east, that ushered 
the Magi. But these are questions above my capacity ; I re- 
sign MeJigs to abler critics and Reynolds to better defenders ; 
well contented that posterity should admire them both, and 
well assured that the fame of our countryman is established be- 
yond the reach of envy or detraction." * 

If I had been aiming to employ the authority of Mengs a- 
gainst the reputation of Reynolds, I think it would not have 
been my part to take such pains for lessening the importance 
of it, and disappointing my own purpose. I cannot doubt but 
I am fairly open to reproach for these invectives against the 
fame of Mengs, but if there is any edge in the weapon I have 
wielded, I may say to his shade — 

Pallas te hoc vulnere, Pallas 

Immolat — 

In the second volume, p. 8, where I am speaking of the great 
luminary of the Spanish school Velazquez, I observe that, 
amongst other studies more immediately attached to his art, he 
perfected himself in the propositions of Euclid — " Elements, 
that prepare the mind in every art and every science, to which 
the human faculties can be applied ; which give a rule and 
measure for every thing in life, dignify things familiar and fa- 
miliarise things abstruse; invigorate the reason, restrain the 
licentiousness of fancy, open all the avenues of truth, and give 
a charm e\en to controverj-y and dispute^ — ." I insert this ex- 
tract because it is in proof to shew that my opinion with re- 
spect to the importance of an academical education was at this 
period of life altogether as strong in favour of the mathemat- 
ical studies, as I have expressed it to be in the former part of 
these Memoirs. 

if it were not a ridiculous thing for an author to give his ov.-n 
works a good word, t should be tempted to risque it in the in- 
strnce of these two volumes of anecdotes ; forasmuch as I bear 
them in grateful remembrance, as having cheered some of my 
heaviest hours, and as being the first producing sent by me 
into the world after my return out of Spain ; from which peri- 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 2Ji; 

ffd to the present hour, when I review the mass of those many 
and various works, which my literary labours have struck out, 
I will venture to say, that if I have merited any chance of liv- 
ing in the remembrance of posterity, it is in these my latter 
years I am to look for it. 

Before I settled myself at Tunbridge Wells I had written my 
comedy of Tbe IValloons, brought out at Covent Garden thea- 
tre, where my friend Henderson exhibited a most inimitable 
specimen of his powers in the character of Father Sullivan. If 
some people were ingenious enough to discover any likeness of 
the Abbe Hussey in that sketch, they imputed to me a design, 
that was never in my thoughts. It was Henderson, with whom 
I was living in the greatest intimacy, who put me upon the 
project of writing a character for him in the cast of Congrcve's 
Double Dealer. — " Make me a fuie bold-faced villain," he said, 
*' the direst and the deepest in nature I care not, so you do but 
give me motives, strong enough to bear me out, and such a 
prominence of natural character, as shall secure me from the 
contempt of my audience ; whatever other passions I can in- 
spire them with will never sink me in their esteem." Upon 
the same principle I conceived the character of Lord Davenant 
for him in 'The Mysterious Husba7ul, and in that he was not less 
conspicuout-ly excellent. 

He was an actor of uncommon powers, and a man of the 
brightest intellect, formed to be the delight of society, and fevv^ 
indeed are those men of distinguished talents, who have been 
more prematurely lost to the world, or more lastingly regretted. 
What he was on the stage, those who recollect his FalstafF, 
Shylock, Sir Giles Overreach, and many other parts of the 
strong cast, can fully testify ; what he was at his own fire-sidi- 
and in his social hours, all, who were within the circle of his iii- 
timates, will not easily forget. He had an unceasing Ilow of 
spirits, and a boundless fund of humour, irresistibly amusing : 
he also had wit, properly so distinguished, and from the jpeci- 
inens, which I have seen of hi:, sallies in veise, levelled at a 
certain editor of a public print, who had annoyed him with his 
paragraphs, I am satiblied Wie had talents at his command to 
have established a very high reputation as a poet, I was with 
him one morning, when he was indisposed, and his physician 
Sir John Elliot paid him a visit. The doctor, as is well known, 
was a merry little being, who talked pretty much at random, 
and oftentimes with no great reverence for the subjects, wliich 
he talked upon ; upon the present occasion however he came 
professionally to enquire how his medicines had succeeded, and 
in his northern accent demanded of his patient — " Had betak- 
en the palls that lie sent him."—" He had."—" Well ! and 
how did they agree I What had they done f" — " Wonders," 
replied Henderson ; " I survived them" — " To be sure you did, 
said the doctor, and you must take more of 'em, and live for 



J56 MEJ-IOIRS OF 

ever : I make all my patients immortal." — " That is exactly 
what I am afraid of, doctor, rejoined the patient. I met a lady 
of my acquaintance yesterday ; you know her very well : she 
was in bitter affliction, crying and bewailing herself in a most 
piteous fashion : I asked what had happened ; a melancholy 
event ; her dearest friend was at death's door" — " What is her 
disease," cried, the doctor ? — " That is the very question I 
asked, replied Henderson ; but she was in no danger from her 
disease ; 'twas very slight ; a mere excuse for calling in a phy- 
sician" — " Wliy, what the devil are you talking about, i-ejoined 
the doctor, if she had called in a physician, and there was no 
danger in the disease, how could she be said to be at death's 
door ? — Because, said Henderson, she had called in you : every 
body calls you in ; you dispatch a world of business, and, if 
A'ou come but once to each, your practice must have made you 
very rich" — Nay, nay, quoth Sir John, I am not rich in this 
world ; I lay up my treasure in heaven" — " Then you may 
take leave of it for ever, rejoined the other, for you have laid it 
up where you will never find it." 

Henderson's memory was SQ prodigious, that I dare not risque 
the instance which I could give of it, not thinking myself enti~ 
tied to demand more credit than I should probably be disposed 
to give. In his private character many good and amiable qual- 
ities might be traced, particularly in his conduct towards an 
aged mother, to whom he bore a truly filial attachment ; and in 
laying up a provision for his wife and daughter he was at least 
sufficiently careful and eeconomical. He was concerned with 
the elder Sheridan in a course of public readings : there could 
not be a higher treat than to hear his recitations from parts and 
passages in Tristram Shandy : let him broil his dish of sprats, 
seasoned with the sauce of his pleasantry, and succeeded by a 
dessert of Trim and my Uncle Toby, it was an entertainment 
worthy to be enrolled amongst the nodes cattajqiie Dit'um. I 
once heard him read part of a tragedy, and but once ; it was in 
his own parlour, and he ranted most outrageously : he was con- 
scious how ill he did it, and laid it aside before he had finished 
it. It was clear he had not studied that most excellent proper- 
ty of pitching his voice to the size of the room he was in ; an 
art, which so few readers have, but which Lord Mansfield was 
allowed to possess in perfection. He was an admirable mimic, 
and in his sallies of this sort he invented speeches and dialogues, 
so perfectly appropriate to the characters he was displaying, that 
I don't doubt but many good sayings have been given to the 
persons he made free with, which being fastened on them by 
him in a frolic, have stuck to them ever since, and perhaps gone 
down to posterity amongst their memorabilia. If there was 
any body now qualified to draw a parallel between the charac- 
ters of Foote and Henderson, I don't pretend to say how the 
men of wit and humour might divide the laurel between them. 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 257 

but in this all men would agree that poor Foote attached to him- 
self very fjvv true friends, and Henderson very many, and those 
highly respectable, men virtuous in their lives, and enlightened 
in their understandings. Toote, vain, extravagant, embarrassed, 
led a wild and thoughtless course of life, yet when death ap- 
proached him, he shrunk back into himself, saw and confessed 
his errors, and I have reason to believe was truly penitent. Hen- 
derson's conduct through life was uniformly decorous, and in 
the concluding stage of it exemplarily devout. 

I have said he played the part of Lord Davenant in my dva- 
xmL oi The Mysterious H/aZ'^;/^ ; I believe it was upon the last 
night of its representation, the King and Queen being present, 
when Henderson's exertions in the concluding scene, where he 
dies upon the stage, occasioned certain agitations, which have 
thenceforward rendered spectacles of that sort very properly 
ineligible. The late Mrs. Pope was very successful and im- 
pressive in the character of Lady Davenant, which I am inclined 
to consider as the best female part I have ever tendered to the 
stage, but as the play is printed and before the public, the pub- 
lic judgment will decide upon it. 

Though I continued to amuse my fancy with dramatic com- 
position, my chief attention was bestowed upon that body of 
original essays, which compose the volumes of The Observer. 
I first printed two octavos experimentally at our press in Tun- 
bridge Wells ; the execution was so incorrect, tliat I stopped 
the impression as soon as I had engaged my friend Mr. Charles 
Dilly to undertake the reprinting of it. He gave it a form and 
shape fit to meet the public eye, and the sale was encouraging. 
I added to the collection very largely, and it appeared in a new 
edition of five volumes : when these were out of print, I made 
a fresh arrangement of the essays, and incorporating my entire 
traublation oiTbe Clouds, we edited the work thus modelled in 
six volumes, arid these being now attached to the great edition 
of the British Essayists, I consider the Observer as fairly en- 
rolled amongst the standard classics of our native language. 

Tliis work therefore has obtained for itself an inheritance ; 
it is fairly off my hands, and what I have to say about it will be 
confined to a few simple facts ; I had no acknowledgments to 
make in my concluding essay, for I had received no aid or as- 
sistance from any man living. Every page and paragraph, ex- 
cept what is avowed (juotation, I ani singly responsible for. 
My much esteemed friend Richard Sharp, Esquire, now of 
Mark Lane, had the kindness, during my absence from town to 
correct the sheets as they came from the press, had that judi- 
cious friend corrected them beibre they went to the press, they 
would have been profited by the reform of many more than typ- 
ographical errors ; but the approbation he was pleased to be- 
stow upon that portion of the work which passed under his in- 
spection, was a very sensible support to me in the prosecutiou 
X2 



258 MEMOIRS OF 

of it ; for though I was aware what allowances I had to make 
for his candid disposition to commend, I had too much con- 
fidence in his sincerity to suppose him capable of compliment- 
ing me against his judgment or his conscience. 

I have been suspected of taking stories out of Spanish authors, 
and weaving them into some of these essays as my own, with- 
out acknowledging the plagiarism. One of my reviewers in- 
stances the story of Nicolas Pcdrosa, and roundly asserts that 
from internal evidence it must be of Spanish construction, and 
from these assumed premises leaves me to abide the odium of 
the inference. To this I answer with the most solemn appeal 
to truth and honour, that I am indebted to no author whatever, 
Spanish or other, for a single hint, idea or suggestion of an in- 
cident in the story of Pedrosa, nor in that of the Misanthrope, 
nor in any other which the work contains. In the narrative of 
the Portuguese, who was brought before the Inquisition what I 
say of it as being matter of tradition, which I collected on the 
spot, is a mere fiction to give an air of credibility and horror to 
the tale : the whole, without exception of a syllable, is absolute 
and entire invention. 

I take credit to myself for the character of Abraham Abra- 
hams ; I wrote it upon principle, thinking it high time that 
something should be done for a persecuted race: I seconded my 
appeal to the charity of mankind by the character of Sheva, 
which I copied from this of Abrahams. The public prints 
gave the Jews credit for their sensibility in acknowledging my 
well-intended services; my friends gave me joy of honorary 
presents, and some even accused me of ingratitude for not 
making public my thanks for their munificence. I will speak- 
plainly on this point ; I "do most heartily wish they had flatter- 
ed me with some token, however small, of which I might have 
said this is a tribute to r,:y philanthropy ^ and delivered it down 
to my children, as my beloved father did to me his badge of fa- 
vour from the citizens of Dublin : but not a word from the lips, 
not a line did I ever receive from the pen of any Jew, though I 
have found myself in company with many of their nation : and 
in this perhaps the gentlemen ai'e quite right, whilst I had form- 
ed expectations, that were quite wrong ; for if I have said, 
for them only what they deserve, why should I be thanked for 
it ? But if I have said more, much more, than they deserve, can 
they do a wiser thing'than hold their tongues ? 

It is reported of me, and very generally believed, that I com- 
pose with great rapidity. I must own the mass of my writings 
(of v/hich the world has not seen more than half), might seem, 
to warrant that report ; but it is only true in some particular in* 
stances, not in the general ; if it were, I should not be disin- 
clined to avail myself of so good an apology for my many er- 
rors and inacuracies, or of so good a proof of the fertility and 
vivacity of my fancy. The fact is, that every hour in the day 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 259 

♦ 

is my hour for study, and that a minute rarely passes, in which 
I am absolutely idle ; in short, I never do nothing. Nature has 
given me the hereditary blessing of a constitutional and habit- 
ual temperance, that revolts against excess of any sort, and 
never suffers appetite to load the frame ; I am accordingly as fit 
to resume my book or my pen the instant after my meal as I 
was in the freshest hours of the morning. I never have been 
accustomed to retire to my study for silence and meditation ; 
in fact my book-room at Tunbridge Wells was occupied as a 
bed-room, and what books I had occasion to consult I brought 
down to the common sitting-room, where in company with my 
wife and family (neither interrupting them, nor interrupted by 
them), I wrote T/je Observer, or whatever else I had in hand. 

I think it cannot be supposed but that the composition of 
those essays must have been a work of time and labour ; I trust 
there is internal evidence of that, particularly in that portion of 
it, which professes to review the literary age of Greece, and 
gives a history of the Athenian stage. That series of papers 
will I hope remain as a monument of my industry in collecting 
materials, and of my correctness in disposing them ; and when 
I lay to my heart the consolation I derive from the honours now 
bestowed upon me at the close of my career by one, who is on- 
ly in the first outset of his, what have I not to augur for my- 
self, when he who starts with such auspicious promise has been 
pleased to take my fame in hand, and link it to his own ? If 
any of my readers are yet to seek for the author, to whom I al- 
lude, the Comtcorum Graecorum fragmenta quaedam will lead 
them to his name, and him to their respect. 

If I cannot resist the gratification of inserting the paragraph, 
(page 7) which places my dim lamp between those brilliant stars, 
of classic lustre, Richard Bentley and Richard Porson, am I to 
be set down as a conceited vain old man ? Let it be so ! I can't 
help it, and in truth I don't much care about it. Though the 
following extract may be the weakest thing, that Mr. Robert 
Walpole, of Ti-inity College, Cambridge, ever has written, or 
ever shall write, it will outlive the strongest thing that can be 
said against it, and I will therefore arrest and incorporate it as 
follows — Aliunde qiwqiie hand e.xiguiim ornamentum hide •volumini 
accessit, liquidem Cumberlayidius nostras amice benet'oleque permis' 
sit, lit "versiones snas quorundam fragmentorum, exquisitas sane 
illas, miraque elegentid conditas et commendatas hue transferrem. 

If there is any man, who has reached my age, and written as 
much as I have with as little recompense for it, who can serious- 
ly condemn me, to his sentence I submit ; as for the sneerers 
and sub-critics, who can neither write themselves, nor feel for 
those who do, they are welcome to make the most of it. 

My publisher informs me that enquiries are made of him, if I 
have it in design to translate more comedies of Aristophanes, 
and that these enq^uiries ar? accompanied by wishes for my un= 



360 MEMOIRS OF 

dertaking it. I am flattered by the honour, which these gentle- 
men confer upon me, but the version of The Clouds cost me 
much time and trouble ; I have no right to reckon upon much 
more time for any thing, and it is very greatly my vv^ish to col- 
lect and revise the whole of my unpublished, and above all of 
my unacted dramas, which are very numerous ; I have also a 
work far advanced, though put aside during the writing of these 
Memoirs, which, if life is granted to me, I shall be anxious to 
complete. I must further observe that there is but one more 
comedy in our volume of Aristophanes, viz. The Pluius, which 
I could be tempted to translate. 

As I hope I have already given a sufficient answer to those, 
who were offended with my treatment of Socrates, I have noth- 
ing more to say of The Observer, or its author. 

Henderson acted in one other play of my writing for his ben- 
efit, and took the part of The Arab, which gave its title to the 
tragedy. I have now in my mind's eye the look he gave me, so 
comically conscious of taking what his judgment told him he 
ought to refuse, when I put into his hand my tributary guineas 
for the few places I had taken in his theatre—" If I were not the 
•* most covetous dog in creation," he cried, " I should not take 
*' your money ; but I cannot help it." I gave my tragedy to 
his use for one night only, and have never put it to any use 
since. His death soon followed, and he was hurried to the 
grave in the vigour of his talents, and the meridian of his fame. 

The late Mrs. Pope, then Miss Youug, performed a part in 
The Arab, and I find an epilogue, which I presume she spoke, 
though of this I am not certain. I discovered it amongst my 
papers, and as I flatter myself there are some points in it not- 
amiss, I take the liberty of inserting it. 

*' Epilogue to the Arab. 

" Miss Young. 

" Yes, 'tis as I predicted — There you sit 
Expecting some smart relisher of wit. 

Why, 'tis a delicacy out of season 

Sirs, have some conscience ! ladies hear some reason I 

With your accustom'd grace you come to share 

Your humble actor's annual bill of fare ; 

But for wit, take it how he will, I tell you, 

All have not Falstaft"'s brains, that have his belly. 

Wit is not all men's money ; when you've bought it, 

Look at your lot. You'rtrick'd. Who could have thonght it? 

Read it, 'tis folly ; court it, a coquette ; 

Wed it, a libertine — you're fairely met. 

No sex, age, country, chai'acter, nor clime, 

No rank commands it ; it obeys no time ; 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 2«l 

Fear'd, lov'd and hated ; prais'd, ador'd and curs'd, 

The very best of all things and the worst ; 

From this extreme to that for ever hurl'd, 

The idol and the outlaw of the world, 

In France, Spain, England, Italy and Greece, 

The joy, plague, pride and foot-ball of caprice. 

" Is it in that man's face, who looks so wise 
With lips half-opened and with half-shut eyes ? 
Silent grimace ! — Flows it from this man's tongue. 
With quaint conceits and punning quibbles hung i 
A nauseous counterfeit ! — Hark ! now I hear it — 
Rank infidelity ! — I cannot bear it. 
See where her tea-table Vanessa spreads ! 
A motley group of heterogeneous heads- 
Gathers around ; the goddess in a cloud 
Of incense sits amidst the adoring crowd. 
So many smiles, nods, simpers she dispenses 
Instead of five you'd think she'd fifteen senses ; 
Alike impatient all at once to shine, 
Eager they plunge in wit's unfathom'd mine : 
Deep underneath the stubborn ore remains, 
The paltry tin breaks up, and mocks their pains. 

" Ask wit of me ! O monstrous, I declare 
You might as well ask it of my Lord Mayor ; 
Requii-e it in an epilogue 1 a road 
As track'd and trodden as a birth-day ode ; 
Oh, rather turn to those malicious elves, 
Who see it in no mortal but themselves ; 
Our gratitude is all we have to give, 
And that we trust your candour will receive." 

Garrick died also, and was followed to the Abbey by a long 
extended train of friends, illustrious for their rank and genius , 
who truly mourned a man, so perfect in his art, that nature 
hath not yet produced an actor, worthy to be called his second. 
I saw old Samuel Johnson standing beside his grave, at the foot 
of Sharkespeare's monument, and bathed in tears : a few suc- 
ceeding years laid him in the earth, and though the marble shall 
preserve for ages the exact resemblance of his form and fea- 
tures, his own strong pen has pictured out a transcript of his 
mind, that shall outlive that and the very language, which he 
laboured to perpetuate. Johnson's best days were dark, and 
only, when his life was far in the decline, he enjoyed a gleam 
of fortune long withheld. Compare him with his countryman 
and contemporary last-mentioned, and it will be one instance 
amongst many, that the man, who only brings the Muse's bant-, 
lings into the world has better lot in it, than he, who has the 
credit of begetting them. 

Reynolds, the friend of both these worthies, had a measure 



262 MEMOmS OF 

of prosperity amply dealt out to him ; he sunned himself in an 
unclouded sky, and his Muse, that gave him a pallet dressed by 
all the Graces, brought him also a cornu-copiae rich and full as 
as Flora, Ceres, and Bacchus, could conspire to make it. His 
hearse was also followed by a noble cavalcade of mourners, ma- 
?iy of whom, I dare believe, left better faces hanging by the 
wall, than those they carried with them to his funeral. When 
he was lost to the world, his death was the dispersion of a bright 
and luminous circle of ingenious friends, whom the elegance 
of his manners, the equability of his temper and the attraction 
of his talents had caused to assemble round hini as the centre 
of their society. la all the most engaging graces of his heart ; 
Jn disposition, attitude, employment, character of his figures, 
and above all in giving mind and meaning to his portraits, if 
T were to say Sir Joshua ne\er was excelled, I am inclined to 
believe so many better opinions would be with me, that I 
should not be found to have said too much. 

Rornney in the mean time shy, private, studious and contem- 
plative ; conscious of all the disadvantages and privations of a 
very stinted education ; of a habit naturally hypochondriac, 
with aspen nerves, that every breath could ruffle, was at once 
in art the rival, and in nature the very contrast of Sir Joshua. 
A man of few want.;, strict tEconomy and with no dislike to 
money, he had opportunities enough to enrich him even to sa- 
tiety, but he was at once so eager to begin, and so slow in fin- 
ishing his portraits, that he was for ever disappointed of re- 
ceiving payment for them by the casualties and revolutions in 
the families they were designed for, so many of his sitters were 
killed off, so many favourite ladies were di-^miksed, so many 
fond wnes divorced, before he would btstov\' half an hour's 
pains upon their petticoats, tliat his unsaleable stock was im- 
mense, whilst with a little more regularity and decision, he 
would have more than doubled liis fortune, and escaped an in- 
finitude of petty troubles that disturbed his temper. At length 
exhausted rather by the languor than by the labour of his mind, 
this admirable artist retired to hi;> native county in the north 
of England, and there, after hovering between life and death, 
neither wholly deprived of the one nor completely rescued by 
the other, he continued to decline, till at last he sunk into a 
distant and inglorious grave, fortunate alone in this, that his 
fame h consigned to the protection of Mr. Hayley, from whom 
the world expects his history ; there if he says no more of him, 
than that he was at least as good a painter as Mr. Cowper was 
a poet, he will say enough ; and if his readers see the parallel in 
the light that I do, they will not think that he shall have said 
too much. 

When I first knew Romney, he was poorly lodged in New- 
port-street, and painted at the small price of eight guineas for a 
three-quarters portrait ; I sate to hii«, and was the first who 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 263 

encouraged him to advance his terms, by paying him ten guin- 
eas for his performance. 1 brought Garrick to see his pictures, 
hoping to interest him in his favour ; a large family piece un- 
luckily arrested his attention ; a gentleman in a close-buckled 
bob-wig and a scarlet w^aistcoat laced with gold, with his wife 
and children, (some sitting, some standing), had taken posses- 
sion of some yards of canvass very much, as it appeared, to their 
own satii-faction, for they were perfectly amused in a contented 
abstinence from all thought or action. Upon this unfortunate 
groupe when GaiTick had fixed his lynx's eyes, he began to put 
himself into the attitude of the gentleman, and turning to Mr. 
Romney — " Upon my word. Sir, said he, this is a very regular 
well-ordered family, and that is a very bright well-rubbed ma- 
hogany table, at which that motherly good lady is sitting, and 
this worthy gentleman in the scarlet waistcoat is doubtless a 
very excellent subject to the state I mean, (if all these are his 
children), but not for your art, Mr. Romney, if you mean to 
pursue it wnth that success, which I hope will attend you — ." 
The modest artist took the hint, as it was meant, in good part, 
and turned his family with their faces to the wall. When Rom- 
ney produced my portrait, not yet finished — It was very well, 
Gan-ick observed : — " That is very like my friend, and that blue 
coat with a red cape is very like the coat he has on, but you 
must give him something to do ; put a pen in his hand, a paper 
on his table, and make him a poet ; if you can once set him 
down well to his writing, who knows but in time he may write 
something in your praise." These words were not absolutely 
improphetical : I maintained a friendship for Romney to his 
death; he was uniformly kind and affectionate to me, and cer- 
tainly I was zealous in my sei'vices to him. After his death I 
wrote a short account of him, which was published in a maga- 
zine ; I did my best, but must confess I should not have under- 
taken it but at the desire of my excellent friend Mr. Green, of 
Bedford-Square, and being further urged to it by the wishes of 
two other valuable friends Mr. Long, of Lincoln's Inn Fields, 
and Mr. Daniel Braythwaite, whom I sincerely esteem, it was 
not for me to hesitate, especially as I was not then informed of 
Mr. Hayley's purpose to take that work upon himself. 

Here I am tempted to insert a few lines, which about this time 
I put together, more perhaps for the purpose of speaking civil- 
ly of Mr. Romney than for any other use, that I could put them 
to ; but as I find there is honourable mention made of Sir Jo- 
shua Reynolds also, I give the whole copy as a further proof, 
that neither in verse or prose did I ever fail to speak of that cel- 
ebrated painter but with the respect so justly due. 

" When Gothic rage had put the arts to flight 
And wrapt the world in universal night, 
When the dire northern swarm with seas of blood 



2S4 MEMOIRS OF 

Had drowned creation in a second flood, 

When all was void, disconsolate and dark, 

Rome in her ashes found one latent spark. 

She, not unmindful of her ancient name, 

Nurs'd her last hope and fed the secret flame ; 

Still as it grew, nevv streams pf orient light 

Beamed on the world and cheered the fainting sight j 

Rous'd from the tombs of the illustrious dead 

Immortal science rear'd her mournful head ; 

And mourn she shall to time's extremest hour 

The dire eftocts of Omar's .savage power, 

When rigiG Amrou's too obedient hand 

Made Alex;;'idria blaze at his command ; 

Six months he fed the sacrilegious flame 

With the sior'd volumes of recorded fame : 

There died all memory of the great and good. 

Then Greece and Rome were finally subdu'd. 

" Yet monkish ignorance had not quite effac'd 
All that tiie chissel wrought, the pencil trac'd j 
Some precious reliques of the ancient hoard 
Or happy chance, or curious search restor'd ; 
The wondering artist kindled as he gaz'd. 
And caught perfection from the work he prais'd. 

'■ Of painters then the celebrated race 
Rose into fiime with each attendant grace; 
Still, as it spread, the wonder-dealing art 
Improv'd the manners and reform'd the heart ; 
Darkness dispers'd, and Italy became 
Once more tiie seat of elegance and fame. 

" Late, very late, on this sequester'd isle 
The heaven-descended art was seen to smile ; 
Seldom she came to this storm-beaten coast. 
And short her slay, just seen, admir'd, and lost : 
Reynolds at length, her favourite suiter, bore 
Ihe blushing stranger to his native shore ; 
He by no mean, no selfish m.otives sway'd 
To public vie w held forth the liberal maid, 
Call'd his admiring countrymen around, 
Fieeiy dtclar'd what raptures lie had found ; 
Told them that merit would alike inipart 
To him or them a passage to her heart. 
Rous'd at the call; all came to view her charms, 
All press'd, all strove to clap her in their arms ; 
See Coats and Dance and Galusboruugh seize the spoil. 
And ready Mortimer that laughs at toil ; 
Crown'd with fresh roses graceful Humphrey stands, 
While beauty grows immortal from his hands ; 
Stubhs like a lion springs upon his prey. 
With bold eccentric V/right that hates the day : 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 255 

• 
Familiar Zoffany with comic art, 
And West, great painter of the human he^rt. 
These and yet more unnam'd that to our eyes 
Bid lawns and groves and tow'ring mountains rise, 
Point the bold rock or stretch the bursting sail. 
Smooth the calm sea, or drive th' impetuous gale : 
Some hunt 'midst fruit and flowery wreaths for fame, 
And Elmer springs it in the fcather'd game. 
" Apart and bending o'er the azure tide, 
■* With heavenly Contemplation by his side, 
A pensive artist stands — in thoughtful mood. 
With downcast looks he eyes the ebbing flood ; 
No wild ambition swells his temperate heart, 
Himself as pure, as patient as his art. 
Nor sullen sorrow, nor intemperate joy 
The even tenour of his thoughts destroy. 
An undistinguish'd candidate for fame. 
At once his country's glory and its shame : 
Rouse then at length, with honest pride inspir'd, 
Romney, advance ! be known and be admir'd." 

I perceive I must resume the immediate subject of these INIo- 
moirs ; it is truly a relief to me, when I am called oft" from it, 
for unvaried egotism would be a toil too heavy for my mind. 
When I attempt to look into the mass of my productions, I 
can keep no order in the enumeration of them ; I have not pa- 
tience to arrange them according to their dates ; I believe I 
have written at least fifty dramas published and unpublished. 
Amongst the latter of these there are some, which in my sin- 
cere opinion are better than most, which have yet seen the 
light : they certainly have had the advantages of a more mature 
correction. When I went to Spain I left in Mr. Harris's hands 
a tragedy on the subject of The Elder Brutus ; the temper of 
the times was by no means suited to the character of the play ; 
I have never wri'ten any drama so much to my own satisfac- 
tion, and my partiality to it has been flattered by the judgment 
of several, who have read it. I have written dramas on the 
stories of the False De^netrius, of Tibereus in Capre^, and a 
tragedy on a plot purely inventive, which I intitled Torrendal ; 
these with several others may in time to come, if life shall be 
continued to me, be formed into a collection and submitted to 
the public. # 

About the time, at which my story points, my traged y of 
The Carmelite was acted at Drury-Lane, and most ably sup- 
ported by Mrs. Siddons, who took the part of the Lady of 
Saint Valori, and also spoke the Epilogue. She played inimita- 
bly, and in those days, when only men and wom.en trode the 
stage, the public were contented with what was perfect in na- 
ture, and of course admired and applauded Mrs. Siddons : 
Y 



266 MEMOIRS OF 

they could then also see merit in Mr. Kemble, who was in the 
commencement of his career, and appeared in the character of 
the youthful Montgomeri : the audiences of that time did not 
think the worse of him because he had reached the age of man- 
hood, and appeared before them in the full stature and com- 
plete maturity of one of the finest forms, that probably was 
ever exhibited upon a public stage. A revolution since then 
has taken place, a caprice, as ridiculous as it is extraordinary, 
and a general act of superannuation has gone forth against eve>- 
ry male perform.er, that has a beard. liow I am to style this 
young child of fortune, this adopted favourite of the public, I 
don't rightly know ; the bills of Covent-Garden announce him 
as Master Betty, those of Drury-Lane as the Young Roscius. 
Roscius, as I believe upon the authority of Shakspeai-e, ivas an 
actor In Rome, and Cicero, who admired him, made a speech in 
his praise : all this of course is very right on both sides, and 
exactly as it should be. Mr. Harris announces him to the old 
women in the galleries in a phrase, that is familiar to them ; 
whilst Mr. Sheridan, presenting him to the senators in the box- 
es by the style and title of Roscius, fails perhaps in his little 
representative of the great Roman acior, but perfectly succeeds 
in his own similitude to the eloquent Roman orator. In the 
mean time my friend Smith of Bury, with all that zeal for mer- 
it, which is natural to him, marries him to Melpomene Avith 
the ring of Gamck, and strewing roses of Parnassus on the 
nuptial couch, crowns happy Master Betty, alias Young Ros- 
cius, with a never-fading chaplet of immortal verse 

And nonv ivhen death dissol'ves his mortal frame, 
His soul shall mount to heav n from ^whence it came 
Earth keep his ashes, "verse preserve his fame. 

How delicious to be praised and panegerised in such a style ; 
to be caressed by dukes, and (which is better) by the daughters 
of dukes, flatteied by wits, feasted by Aldermen, stuck up in 
the windows of the printshops, and set astride (as these eyes 
have seen him) upon the cut-water of a privateer, like the tute- 
lary genius of the British flag. 

What encouragements doth this great enlightened nation 
hold forth to merit ? What a consolatory reflection must it 
be to the superannuated yellow admirals of the stage, that when 
they shall arrive at second childhood, they may still have a chance 
to arrive at honours second only to these ! I declare I saw with 
surprise a man, who led about a bear to dance for the edifica- 
tion of the public, lose all his popularity in the street, where 
this exquisite gentleman has his lodging ; the people ran to see 
him at the window, and left the bear and the bear-leader in a 
solitude. I saw this exquisite young gentleman, whilst I paced 
the streets on foot, wafted to his jnorning-'s rehearsal in a ve- 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 267 

hide, that to my vulgar optics seemed to wear upon its polish- 
ed doors the ensign of a ducal crown ; I looked to see if haply 
John Kemble were on the braces, or Cooke perchance behind 
the coach ; I saw the laquies at their post, but Glenalvon was 
not there : I found John Kemble sick at home — I said within 
myself 

Oh ! ivhat a time have you chose oiity brave CaiuSf 
To <ivear a kerchief ? JVould you ivere not sick ! 

We shall have a second influx of the pigmies ; they will pour 
upon us in multitudes innumerable as a shoal of sprats, and 
when at last we have nothing else but such small fry to feed 
on, an epidemic nausea will take place. 

There are intervals in fevers ; there are lucid moments in 
madness ; even folly cannot keep possession of the mind for 
ever. ]t is very natural to encourage rising genius, it is highly 
commendable to foster its first shoots ; Ave admire and caress a 
clever school-boy, but we should do very ill to turn his master 
out of his office and put him into it. If the theatres persist in 
their puerilities, they will find themselves very shortly in the 
predicament of an ingenious mechanic, whom I remember in 
my younger days, and whose story I will briefly relate, in hopes 
it may be a warning to them. 

This very ingenious artist, when Mr. Rich the Harlequin 
was the great dramatic author of his time, and wrote success- 
fully for the stage, _contrived and executed a most delicious 
serpent for one of those inimitable productions, in which Mr. 
Rich, justly disdaining the weak aid of language, had selected 
the classical fable (if I rightly recollect it) of Orpheus and Eu- 
rydice, and having conceived a very capital part Tor the serpent, 
was justly anxious to provide himself with a performer, v;ho 
could support a character of tiiat consequence v,-ith credit to 
himself and to his author. The event answered his most ar- 
dent hopes ; nothing could be more perfect in his entrances 
and exits, nothing ever crawled across the stage with more ac- 
complished sinuosity than this enchanting serpent ; every soul 
was charmed with its performance ; it twirled and twisted and 
wriggled itself about in so divine a manner, the whole world 
was ravished with the lovely snake : nobles and non-nobles, 
rich and poor, old and young, reps ond demi-reps flocked to 
see it, and admire it. The artirit, who had been the master of 
the movement, was intoxicated with his success ; he turned 
his hands and head to nothing else but serpents ; he made them 
©f all sizes, they crawled about his shop as if he had been chief 
snake-catcher to the furies : the public curiosity was satisfied 
with one serpent, and he had nests of them yet unsold ; his 
stock laid dead upon his hands, his trade was lost, and the man 
was ruined, bankrupt and undone. 



-•68 MEMOIRS OF 

Here it occurs to me that in one of my preceding pages I 
have promised to address a parting word to my brethren and 
contemporaries in the dramatic line. Jf what I have been now say- 
jng coincides with their opinions, I have said enough ; if it does 
not, what i might add to it wouid be all too much, and the ex- 
perience of grey hairs would be in vain opposed to the preiudi- 
ces of green heads. May success attend them in their efforts, 
whenever they shall seriously address them to the study of the 
legitimate dram,a, and the restoration of good taste ! There is 
no lack of genius in the nation ; I therefore will not totally de- 
spair, old as I am, of living still to witness the commencement 
of a brigliter asra. 

About this time I undertook the hardy task of differing in 
opinion from one of the ablest scholars and finest writers in the 
kingdom, and controverted the proposal of the Bishop of Llan- 
datf for equalizing the revenues of the hierarchy and dignitaries 
of the church established. I still think I had the best of the ar- 
gument, and that his lordship did a wiser thing in declining the 
controversy, than in throwing out the proposal. I have read a 
charge of the bishop's to the clergy of his diocese for enforcing 
many points of discipline, and enjoining residence. As his lord- 
ship neither resides in his diocese, nor executes the important 
duty of Regius Professor of Divinity in person, I am not in- 
formed whether his clergy took their rule of conduct from his 
precept, or from his exauiple ; but I take for granted that those, 
whose poverty confined them to their parsonages, did not stray 
from home, and that those, whose means enabled them to visit 
other places, did not want a precedent to refer to for their 
apology. 

As I have dealt extremely little in anonymous publications, I 
may as well confess myself in this place the author of a pamphlet 
entitled Curtius rescued from the Culph. I conceived that Doc- 
tor Parr had hit an unoffending gentleman too hard, by launch- 
ing a huge fragment of Greek at his defenceless head. The sub- 
ject was started,, and the exterminating weapon produced at 
one of my friend Dilly's literary dinners ; there were several 
gentlemen present better armed for the encounter than myself, 
but the lot fell upon me to turn out against Ajax. I made as 
good a fight as I could, and rummaged my indexes for quota- 
tions, which I crammed into my artillery as thick as grape 
shot, and in mere sport fired them off against a rock invulnera- 
ble as the armour of Achilles. It was very well observed by 
my friend Mr. Dilly upon the profusion of quotations, which 
some writers affectedly make use ofj that he knew a presbyte- 
rian parson, who for eighteen-pence would furnish any pamph- 
leteer with as many scraps of Greek and Latin, as would pass 
him off for an accomplished classic. I simply discharge a debt 
of gratitude, justly due, when I acknowledge the great and fre- 
quent gratifications 1 have received at the hospitable board of 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 269 

* 

the worthy friend last -mentioned, who whilst he conducted up- 
on principles of the strictest integrity the extensive business car- 
ried on at his house in the Poultry, kept a table ever open to 
the patrons and pursuers of literature, which was so adminis- 
tered as to draw the best circles together, and to put them most 
completely at their ease. No man ever understood this better, 
and few ever practised it with such success, or on so lai"ge a 
scale : it was done without parade, and in that consisted the 
peculiar air of comfort and repose, which characterised those 
meetings : hence it came to pass that men of genius and learn- 
ing resorted to them with delight, and here it was that they 
were to be found divested of reserve, and in their happiest mo- 
ments. Under this roof the biographer of Johnson, and the 
pleasant tourist to Corsica and the Hebrides, passed many jo- 
vial joyous hours ; here he has located some of the liveliest 
scenes and most brilliant passages in his entertaining anecdotes 
of his friend Samuel Johnson, who yet lives and speaks in hira. 
The book of Boswell, is, ever as the year comes round, my win- 
ter-evening's entertainment : I loved the man ; he had great 
convivial powers and an inexhaustible fund of good humour in 
society ; no body could detail the spirit of a conversation in the 
true style and character of the parties more happily than my 
friend James Boswell, especially when his vivacity was excited, 
and his heart cxhilerated by the circulation of the glass, and the 
grateful odour of a well-broiled lobster. 

To these parties I can trace my first impressions of esteem 
for certain characters, whose merits are above my praise, and 
of whose triendship I have still to boast. From Mr. Dilly's hos- 
pitality I derive not only the recollection of pleasure past, but 
the enjoyment of happiness yet in my possession. Death has 
not struck so deep into that circle, but that some are left, whose 
names are dear to society, whom I have still to number amongst 
my living friends, to whom I can resort and find myself not 
lost to their remembrance. Our hospitable host, retired from 
business, ;itill greets me with a friendly welcome ; in the com- 
pany of the worthy Braythwaite I can enjoy the contemplation 
of a man universally beloved, full indeed of years, but warm in 
feeling, unimpaired in faculties and glowing with benevolence. 

I can visit the justly-admired author of The Pleasures of Me- 
mory, and find mybclf with a friend, who together with the 
brightest genius possesses elegance of manners and excellence of 
heart. He tellt. me he remembers the day of our first meeting 
at Mr. Dilly's ; I also remember it, and though his modest un- 
assuming nature held back and shrunk from all appearances of 
ostentation and display of talents, yet even then I take credit 
for discovering a promise uf good things to come, and suspect- 
ed him of holding secret commerce with the Muse, before the 
proof appeared in shape of one of th most beausiful and har- 
monious poems in our language. I do not say that he has not 
Y2 



270 MEMOIRS OF 

ornamented the age he lives in, though he were to stop where 
he is, but I hope he will not so totally deliver himself over td 
the Arts as to neglect the Muses ; and I now publicly call up- 
on Samuel Rogers to answer to his name, and stand forth in the 
title page of some future work that shall be in substance greater, 
in dignity of subject more sublime, and in purity of versifica- 
tion not less charming than his poem above-mentioned. 

My good and worthy friend Mr. Sharpe has made himself in 
some degree responsible to the public, for having been the first 
to suggest to me the idea of writing this huge volume of my 
Memoirs ; he knows I was not easily encouraged to believe my 
history could be made interesting to the readers of it, and in 
truth opinion less authoritative than his would not have prevail- 
ed with me to commit myself to the undertaking. Neither he 
nor I however at that time had any thought of publishing before 
my death ; in proof of which I have luckily laid my hand upon 
the following lines amongst the chaos of my manuscripts, which 
will shew that I made suit to him to protect this and other re- 
liques of my pen, when I had paid the debt of nature 

" To Richard Sharpe, Esquire, of Mark-Lane." 

" If rhyme e'er spoke the language of the heart. 
Or truth employ'dthe measur'd phrase of art. 
Believe me, Sharpe, this verse, which smoothly flov^?. 
Hath all the rough sincerity of prose. 
False flattering words from eager lips may fly, 
But who can pause to harmonize a lie ? 
Or e'er he made the jingling couplet chime, 
Conscience would start and reprobate the rhyme, 
if then 'twere mei-ely to entrap your ear 
I cail'd you friend, and pledg'd myself sincere, 
Genius would shudder at the base design. 
And my hand tremble as I shap'd the line. 
Poets oft times are tickled with a word, 
That gaily glitters at the festive board, 
And many a man, my judgment can't approve. 
Hath trick'd my foolish fancy of its love ; 
For every foible natural to my race 
Finds for a time with me some fleeting place 5 
But occupants so weak have no controul. 
No fix'd and legal tenure in my soul, 
Nor will my reason quit the faithful clue, 
That points to truth, to vii-tue and to you. 

" In the vicissitudes of life we find 
Strange turns and twinings in the human mind'. 
And he, who seeks consistency of plan, 
Ts little vers'd in the great map of man ; 
The widci- itill th6 sphere in which wc tiVe, 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. a?!- 

The more our calls to suffer and forgive : 
But from the hour (and many years are past) 
From the first hour I knew you to the last, 
Through every scene, self-center'd and at rest, 
Your steady character hath stood the test. 
No rash conceits divert your solid thought, 
By patience foster'd and with candour fraught ; 
Mild in opinion, but of soul sincere, 
And only to the foes of truth severe, 
So unobtrusive is your wisdom's tone, 
Your converts hear and fancy it their own, 
With hand so fine you probe the festering mind, 
You heal our wounds, and leave no sore behind. 

" Now say, my friend — but e'er you touch the task 
Weigh well the burden of the boon I ask — 
Say, when the pulses of this heart shall cease. 
And my soul quits her cares to seek her peace, 
Will your zeal prompt you to protect the name 
Of one not totally unknown to fame ? 
Will you, who only can the place supply 
Of a lost son, befriend my progeny ? 
For when the wreck goes down there will be found 
Some remnants of the freight to float around. 
Some that long time hath almost snatch'd from sight, 
And more unseen, that struggle for the light ; 
And sure I am the stage will not refuse. 
To lift her curtain for my widow'd Muse, 
Nor will her hearers less indulgent be. 
When that last curtain shall be dropt on me." 

I have fairly given the reasons, that prevailed with me for 
publishing these Memoirs in my life time, and I believe every 
man, that knows them, will acknowledge they are reasons suffi- 
ciently cogent. My friend Sharpe very kindly acceded to the 
suit above-made; Mr. Rogers has since joined him in the task, 
and Sir James Bland Burges, of whose friendship I have had 
many and most convincing proofs, has with the candour, that 
is natural to an enlightened mind, generously engaged to take 
his share in selecting and arranging the miscellaneous farrago, 
that will be found in my drawers, after my body has been com- 
mitted to the earth. To these three fi-iends I devote this task, 
and upon their judgment I rely for the publication or suppres- 
sion of what they may find amongst my literary relics ; they are 
all much younger men than I am, and I pray God, that death, 
who cannot long spai^e me, will not draw those arrov^^s from his 
quiver, which fate has destined to extinguish them, till they have 
completed a career equal at least in length to mine, crowned 
with more fame, and graced with much more fortune and pros- 
p.erity. I know that they will do what they have said, and 



272 MEMOIRS OF 

faithfully protect my posthumous reputation, as I have been a 
faithful friend to them and to their living works. 

The heroic poem of Richard the First is truly a very extraor- 
dinary work. I am a witness to the extreme rapidity, with 
which my friend the author wrote it. It far exceeded the sup- 
posed rate, at which Pope translated Homer, which being at fif- 
ty linet. per day, Samuel Johnson hesitates to give credit to. If 
to this we take into account the peculiar construction of the 
stanza, every one of which involves four, three and two termi- 
nations in rhyme, and which must naturally have enhanced the 
labour of the poet in a very considerable degree, I am aston- 
ished at the facility, with which Sir James has triumphed 
over the difficulties, that he chose to impose upon him- 
self, and must confess his Muse moves gracefully in her fet- 
ters. I was greatly pleased to see that the learned and judicious 
Mr. Todd in his late edition of Spenser has spoken of this poem 
in such handsome terms, as I can never meet a stronger confir- 
mation of my own opinion, than when I find it coinciding with 
that of so excellent a critic. The asra, in which my friend has 
placed his poem, the hero he has chosen, and the chivalric char- 
acter, with which he has very properly marked it, are circum- 
stances that might naturally prevail with him for modelling it 
upon the sranza of the Fairy Queen, which, though it has not 
so proud a march as the heroic verse, has certainly more of the 
knightly prance in it, and of course more to the writer's pur- 
pose than the rhyming couplet. Perhaps the public at large 
have not yet formed a proper estimate of the real merit of this 
heroic poem. Its adoption of a stanza, obsolete and repeti- 
tionary on the ear, is a circumstance, that stamps upon it the 
revolting air of an imitation, which in fact it is not, and deters 
many from reading it, who would else find much to admire, and 
instead of Ah covering any traces of the Fairy Queen, would 
meet enough to remind them of a nobler model in the Iliad of 
Homer. In the mean time it gives me great satisfaction to know 
that the author of Richard has since paid loyal service to the 
dramatic Muse, and when a mind so prompt in execution, and 
so fully stored with the knowledge both of men and books, shall 
address its labours to the stage, I should be loath to doubt but 
that the time will come when classic writing shall expel grim- 
ace. 

I hope I shall in no wise hurt the feelings of a lady, who now 
most worthily fills a very elevated station, if, in speaking of my 
humble productions in the course of my subject, I cannot avoid 
to speak of one of the most elegant actresses that ever graced 
the stage. When I brought out my comedy of The Natural 
Son, I flattered myself that in the sketch of Lady Paragor. I had 
conceived a character not quite unworthy of the talents of Miss 
Farren : it is saying little in the way of praise, when I acknowl- 
edge the partiality I still retain for that particular part, and in- 



UICI^RD CUMBERLAND. 273 

rfeed for that play in general. It was acted and published in the 
same season with the Carmelite, and though I did not either in 
that instance, or in any other to my knowledge, obtrude myself 
upon the public to the exclusion of a competitor, still it was so 
that the town was pleased to interpret my second appeal to 
their candour, and the newspapers of the day vented their ma- 
lignancy against me in the most opprobrious terms. So exqui- 
site was the style, in which MissFarren gave her character its best 
display, and so respectable were her auxiliaries in the scene, 
particularly Mr. John Palmer, that they could never deprive 
the comedy of favourable audiences, though their efforts too fre- 
quently succeeded in preventing them from being full ones. 
It was a persecution most disgraceful to the freedom of the 
press, and the performers resented it with a sensibility, that did 
them honour ; they traced some of the paragraphs to their dirty 
origin, but upon minds entirely debased shame has no effect. 

I now foresaw the coming-on of an event, that must inevita- 
bly deprive me of one of the greatest com.forts, which still ad- 
hered to me in my decline of fortune. It was too evident that 
the constiution of Lord Sackviile, long harassed by the painful 
visitation of that dreadful malady the stone, was decidedly giv- 
ing way. There was in him so generous a repugnance against 
troubling his friends with any complaints, that it was from ex- 
ternal evidence only, never from confession, that his sufferings 
could be guessed at. Attacks, that would have conlined most 
people to their beds, never moved him from his habitual punc- 
tuality. It was cui'ious, and probably in some men's eyes would 
from its extreme precision have appeared ridiculously minute 
and formal, yet in the movements of a domestic establishment 
so large as his, it had its uses and comforts, which his guests 
and family could not fail to partake of. As sure as the hand of 
the clock pointed to the half-hour after nine, neither a minute 
before nor a minute after, so sure did the good lord of the cas- 
tle step into his breakfast room, accoutred at all points accoi-d- 
ing to his own invariable costuma, with a complacent counte- 
nance, that prefaced his good-morning to each person there as- 
sembled ; and now, whilst I recall these scenes to my remem- 
brance, I feel gratified by the reflection, that I never passed a 
night beneath his roof, but that his morning salutation met me 
at my post. He allowed an hour and a half for breakfast, and 
regularly at eleven took his morning's circuit on horseback at 
a foot's-pace, for his infirmity would not admit of any strong 
gestation ; he had an old groom, who had grown grey in his ser- 
vice, that was his constant pilot upon these excursions, and his 
general custom was to make the tour of his cottages to recon- 
noitre the condition they were in, whether their roofs wej-e in 
repair, their windows whole, and the gardens well cropped and 
neatly kept ; all this it was their interest to be attentive to, for 
he bought the produce of their fruit-trees, and I have heard hirm 



274 MEMOIRS OF 

say with great satisfaction that he has paid thirty shillings In a 
season for strawbemcs only to a poor cottager, who paid him 
one shilling annual rent for his tenement and garden ; this was 
the constant rate, at which he let them to his labourers, and he 
made them pay it to his steward at his yearly audit, that they 
might feel themselves in the class of regular tenants, and sit 
down at table to the good cheer provided for them on the aud- 
it-day. He never rode out without preparing himself with a 
store of six-pences in his waiscoat pocket for the children of the 
poor, who opened gates and drew out sliding bars for him in 
his passing through the enclosures : these barriers were well 
watched, and there was rarely any employment for a servant ; 
but these six-pences were not indiscriminately bestowed, for 
as he kept a charity school upon his own endowment, he knew 
to whom he gave them, and generally held a short parley with 
the gate-opener as he paid his toll for passing. Upon the very 
first report of illness or accident relief was instantly sent, and 
they were put upon the sick list, regularly visited, and constant- 
ly supplied with the best medicines administered upon the best 
advice, if the poor man lost his cow or liis pig or his poultry, 
the loss was never made up in money, but in stock. It was his 
custom to buy the cast-off liveries of his own servants as con- 
stantly as the day of cloathing came about, and these he dis- 
tributed to the old and worn-out labourers, who turned out 
daily on the lawn and paddock in the Sackville livery to pick 
up boughs and sweep up leaves, and in short do just as much 
work as served to keep them wholesome and alive. 

To his religious duties this good man was not only regular* 
ly but respectfully attentive : on the Sunday morning he ap- 
peared in gala, as if he was dressed for a drawing room ; he 
marched out his whole family in grand cavalcade to his parish 
church, leaving only a centinel to watch the fire.n at home, and 
mount guard upon the spits. His deportment in the house of 
prayer was exemplary, and more in character of times pa&t than 
of time present ; he had a way of standing up in sermon-time 
for the purpose of reviewing the congregation, and awing the 
idlers into decorum, that never failed to remind me of Sir Rog- 
er de Coverly, at church : sometimes, when he has been str.ick 
with passages in the discourse, which he wi.^hed to point out 
to the audience as rules for moral practice worthy to be notic- 
ed, he would mark his approbation of them with such cheering 
nods and signal-, of assent to the preacher, as were often more 
than my muscles could withstand ; but when to the total over- 
throw of all gravity, in his zeal to encourage the efforts of a 
very young declaimer in the pulpit, I heard him cry out to the 
Reverend Mr. Henry Eatoff in the middle of his sermon — " Well 
done, Harry !" It was irresistible ; suppression was out of my 
power : what made it more intolerably comic was, the unmov- 
r'd sincerity of his manner, and his surprise to find that any 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 275 

thing had passed, that could provoke a laugh so out of time 
and place. He had nursed up with no small care and cost in 
each of his parish churches a corps of rustic psalm-singers, to 
whose performances he paid the greatest attention, rising up, 
and with his eyes directed to the singing gallery, marking time, 
which was not always rigidly adhered to, and once, when his 
ear, which was very correct, had been tortured by a tone most 
glaringly discordant, he set his mark upon the culprit by call- 
ing out to him by name, and loudly saying, " Out of tune, Tom 
Bakei^ — !" Now this faulty musician Tom Baker happened to 
be his lordship's butcher, but then in order to set riames and 
trades upon a par, Tom Butcher was his lordship's baker ; 
which I observed to him was much such a reconcilement of 
cross partners as my illustrious friend George Faulkner hit up- 
on, when in bis Dublin Journal he printed — " Erratu ti in our 
last — For His Grace the Duchess of Dorset read Her Grace the 
Duke of Dorset—." 

I relate these little anecdotes of a man, whose character had 
nothing little in it, that I may show him to my readers in his 
private scenes, and be as far as I am able the intimate and true 
transcriber of his heart. While the marriage-settlement of his 
eldest daughter was in preparation, he said to the nob'e person 
then in treaty for her — " I am perfectly assured, my lord, that 
you have correctly given in a statement of your affairs, as you 
in honour and in conscience religiously believe them to be ; but 
I am much afraid they have been estimated to you for better 
than they really are, and you must allow me therefore to ap- 
prise you, that I shall propose an alteration in my daughter's 
fortune, more proportioned to what I now conceive to be the 
real valuation of your lordship's property — " To this, when 
the generous and disinterested .suiter expressed his ready acqui- 
escence, my friend replied (I had the anecdote from his own 
mouth) " I peiceive your lordship understands me, as proposing 
a reduction from my daughter's portion ; not so, my lord ; my 
purpose is to double it, that I may have the gratification of sup- 
plyi';/- those deficiencies in the stai;'?ment, which I took the lib- 
erty O'' noticing, and wliicli, as you were not aware of them, 
might •: i e have disappointed and perhaps misled you — " When 
he iirparted this circumstance to me in the words, as nearly as 
lean remember, bui correctly in the i-pirit of those words, he 
said to me — " I hopt- you don't suppose I would have dont this 
for my eldest daughl:er, if I had not assured myself of my abili- 
ty to do the same for tiie other tv>'o — ." 

It was in the yeai 1 785, whilst he was at Stoneland, that those 
symptoms first appeared, which gradually disclosed such evi- 
dences of dcbiliry, a-- could ;iot be oc-r ::c3ie''; a ;.J >.Lt.'''ed to 
demonstratitin, that the haud of death was even theii upon him. 
He had prepaied himself with an opinion deliberately formed 
upon the matter of the Irish Propositions, and when that great 



276 MEMOIRS OF 

question was appointed to come on for discussion in the House 
of Lords, he thought himself bound in honour and duty to at- 
tend in his place. He then for the first time confessed himself 
to be unfit for the attempt, and plainly declared he believed it 
would be his death. He paused for a few moments, as if in hes- 
itation how to decide, and the air of his countenance was im- 
pressed with melancholy : we were standing under the great 
spreading tree, that shelters the back-entrance to the house j 
the day was hot ; he had dismoimted heavily from his horse ; 
we were alone, and it was plain that exercise, though gentle, 
had increased his languor ; he was oppressed both in body and 
spirit ; he did not attempt to disguise it, for he could no longer 
counterfeit : he sate down upon the bench at the tree-foot, and 
composing his countenance, as if he wished to have forced a 
smile upon it, had his suffering given him leave — " I know, said 
he, as well as you can tell me, what you think of me just now, 
and that you are convinced if I go to town upon this Irish 
business, I go to my death ; but I also know you are at heart 
not against my undertaking it, for I have one convincing proof 
for ever present to me, how much more you consult my hon- 
our than my safety ; And after all what do I sacrifice, if with 
the s>entence of inevitable death in my hand, I only lop off a 
few restless hours, and in the execution of my duty meet the 
stroke ? In one word I tell you I shall go : we will not have 
another syllable upon the subject ; don't advise it, lest you 
should repent of it, when it has killed me ; and do not oppose 
it, because it would not be your true opinion, and if it were, I 
would not follow it — " 

It was in that same day after dinner, as I well remember, the 
evening being most serene and lovely, we seated ourselves in the 
chairs, that were placed out upon the garden grass-plat, which 
looks towards Crowberry and the forest. Our conversation 
led us to the affair qf Minden ; my friend most evidently court- 
ed the discussion : I told him I had diligently attended the 
whole process of the trial, and that I had detailed it to Mr. 
Doddington : I had conse-juently a pretty coiTcct remembrance 
of the leading circumstances as they came out upon the evi- 
dence. But I observed to him that it was not upon the ques- 
tions and proceeding agitated at that court, that I could per- 
fect my opinion of the case ; there must be probably a chain of 
leading causes, which, though they could not make a part of 
his di fence in public court, niight, if d'.'veloped, throw such 
lights on the respective conduct of the parties, as would ha. ;• 
led to conclusions different from those, which stood upon the 
record. 

To this he answered that my remsrk was just : there were 
certain circumstances a: t 'cedeni to the action, that should be 
taken into consideration, and there were certain forbeai»nccs, 
posterior to the trial, that should be accounted for. The time 



RICHAliD CUMBERLAND. 27^ 

was come, when he could have no temptation to disguise and 
violate the truth, and a much more awful trial was now close 
at hand, where he must sutTer for it if he did. He would talk 
plainly, temperately and briefly to me, as his manner was, pro- 
vided I v»Duld promise him to deal sincerely, and not spare to 
press him on such points, as t-tuck with me for want of explana- 
tion. This being premised, he entered upon a detail, which 
unless I could give, as taken down from his lips, without the 
variation of a word, so sacred do I hold the reputation of the 
dead entrusted to me, and the feelings of the living, whom any 
error of mine might wound, that I shall forbear to speak of it 
except in general terms. He appeared to me throughout his 
whole discourse like a man, who had perfectly dismissed his 
passions ; his colour never changed, his features never indica- 
ted embarrassment, his voice was never elevated, and being re- 
lieved at times by my questions and remarks, he appeared to 
speak without pain, and in the event his mind seemed lighten- 
ed by the discharge. When I compare what he said to me in 
his last moments, (not two hours before he expired) with what 
he stated at this conference, if I did not fi-om my heart and up- 
on the most entire conviction of my reason and understanding, 
solemnly acquit that injured man, (now gone to his account) of 
the opprobrious and false imputations, deposed against him at 
his trial, I must be either brutally ignorant, or wilfully obsti- 
nate against the truth. 

At the battle of Fontenoy, at the head of his brave regiment, 
'n the very front of danger and the heat of action, he received 
a bullet in his breast, and being taken off the field by his gren- 
adiers, was carried into a tent belonging to the equipage of the 
French King, and there laid upon a table, whilst the surgeon 
dres:.ed his wound ; so far had that glorious column penetra- 
ted in their advance towards victory, unfortunately snatched 
from them. Let us contemplate the same man, commanding 
the British cavalry in the battle of Minden, no longer in the 
front of danger and the heat of action, no longer in the pur- 
suit of victory, for that was gained, and can we think with 
his unjust defamer, that such a man would tremble at a flying 
foe ? It is a supposition against nature, a charge that cannot 
stand, an imputation that confutes itself. 

Perhaps I am repeating things that I have said in my account 
of him, published after his death, but I have no means of refer- 
ring to that pamphlet, and have been for some time writing at 
Ramsgate, where I have not a single book to turn to, and very 
few papers and minutes of ti-ansactions to refresh my memory. 

Lord Sackville attended parliament, as he said he would , 
and retoi-ned, as he predicted, a dying m.an. He allowed me 
to call in Sir Francis Miliman, then practising at Tunbridge 
Wells : all medical assistant!- ',vas in vain ; the saponaceous 
medicines, tliat had given him intervals of ease, and probably 
Z 



278 MEMOIRS OF 

m.my years of existence, had now lost their efficacy, or by their 
pfiicacy worn their conductors out. He wished to' take his last 
leave of the Earl of Mansfield, then at Tunbridge Wells ; I sig- 
nified this to the earl, and accompanied him in his chaise to 
Stoneland ; I was present at their interview. Lord Sackville, 
just dismoimted from his horse, came into the room, where we 
had waited a very few minutes, and staggered as he advanced 
to reach his hand to his respectable visitor ; he drew his breath 
v,'ith palpitating quickness, and if I remember rightly never 
rode again : there was a death-like character in his countenance, 
that visibly affected and diatin-bed Lord Mansfield in a manner, 
that 1 did not quite expect, for it had more of horror in it, than a 
firm m.an ought to have shewn, and less perhaps of other feel- 
ings than a friend, invited to a meeting of that nature, must 
have discovered, had he not h^ien frightened fi-om his propriety. 

As soon as Lord Sackville had recovered his breath, his vis- 
itor remaining silent, he began by apologising for the trouble he 
had given him, and for the unpleasant spectacle he was con- 
scious of exhibiting to him in the condition he was now re- 
duced to ; " but my good lord, he said, though I ought not to 
have imposed upon yon the painful ceremony of paying a last 
visit to a dying man, yet so great was my anxiety to return you 
my unfeigned thanks for all your goodness to me, all the kind 
protection you have shewn me through the course of my im- 
prosperous life, that I could not knov/ you was so near me, and 
not wish to assure you of the invariable respect I have enter- 
tained for your character, and now in the most serious manner 
to solicit your forgiveness, if ever in the fluctuations of politics 
or the heats of party, I have appeared in your eyes at any mo- 
ment of my lite unjust to your great merits, or forgetful of 
your many favours." 

When I record this speech, I give it to the reader as correct 5 
T do not trust to memory at this distance ; I transcribe it : I 
scorn the paltry trick of writing speeches for any man, whose 
name is in these Memoirs, or for myself, in whose name these 
Memoirs shall go forth respectable at least for their veracity ; 
for I certainly cannot wish to present myself to the world in 
two such opposite and incoherent characters as the writer of 
my own history, and the hero of a fiction. 

Lord Mansfield made a reply perfectly becoming and highly 
satisfactory : he was far on in years, and not in sanguine health 
or a strong state of nerves ; there was no immediate reason to 
continue the discourse ; Lord Sackville did not press for it ; 
his visitor departed, and I staid with him.. He made no other 
observation upon what had passed than that it was extremely 
obliging in Lord Mansfield, and then turned to other subjects. 

Ju him the vital principle was strong, and nature, which re- 
sisted dissolution, maintained at every out-post, that defended 
life, a lingering agonizing struggle. Through every stage of 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 279 

« 

varied misery — extremes by change more fierce — his fortitude re- 
mained unshaken, his senses perfect, and his mind never died, 
till the last pulse was spent, and his heart stopped for ever. 

In this period intelligence amved of the Propositions being 
withdrawn in the Irish House of Commons : he had letters on 
this subject from several correspondents, and one iVom Lord 
Sydney, none of which we thought fit then to give him. I 
told him in as few words and as clearly as I could liow the busi- 
ness passed, but requested he would simply hear it, and not 
argue upon it — *<I am not sorry, he said, that it has so happened. 
You can witness that my predictions are veritied : something 
might now be set on foot for the benefit of both countries. I 
wish I could live long enough to give my opinion in my place ; 
I have formed my thoughts upon it ; but it is too late for me 
to do any good ; I hope it will fall into abler hands, and you 
forbid me to argue. I see you are angry with me for talking, 
and indeed it gives me pain. I have nothing to do in this lifo, 
but to obey and be silent — " From that moment he never 
spoke a word upon the subject. 

As I knev/ he had been some time meditating on his prepara- 
tions to receive the sacrament, and death seemed near at hand, 
I reminded him of it ; he declared himself ready and at peace 
with all mankind ; in one instance only he confessed it cost him 
a hard struggle. What that instance was he needed not to ex- 
plain to me, nor am I careful to explain to any. I trust ac- 
cording to the infirmity of man's nature he is rather to be hon- 
oured for having finally extinguished his resentment, than con- 
demned for having fostered it too long. A Christian Saint 
would have done it sooner : how many men would not have 
done it ever ! 

The Reverend Mr. Sackville Bayle, his worthy parish priest 
and ever faithful friend, administered the solemn office of the 
sacrament to him, reading at his request the prayers for a com- 
municant at the point of death. He had ordered all his bed- 
curtains to be opened and the sashes thrown up, that he might 
have air and space to assist him in his efforts : what they were, 
with what devotion he joined in those solemn prayers, that 
warn the parting .spirit to dismiss all hopes that centre in this 
world, that reverend friend can witness ; I also was a witnesa 
and a partaker ; none else was pre&ent at that holy ceremony. 

A short time before he expired I cam.e by his desire to his 
bed-side, when taking my hand, and pressing it betvveen his, he 
addressed me for the last time in the following words — " You 
see me now in those moments, when no disguise will serve, 
and when the spirit of a man must be proved. I have a mind 
perfectly resigned, and at peace within itself. I have done with 
this world, and what I have done in it, I have done for the 
best ; I hope and trust I am prepared for the next. Tell not 
me of all that passes in health and pride of heart ; these are the 



::84> MEMOIRS OF 

moments in which a man most be searched, and remember 
that I die, as you see me, with a tranquil conscience and con- 
tent — " I have reason to know I am correct in these expres- 
sions, because I transcribe them word for Word from a copy of 
my letter to the Honourable George Darner, now Earl of Dor- 
chester, written a few days after his uncle Lord Sackville's 
death, and dated September 13th, 1785. 

To that excellent and truly noble person I recommend and de- 
vote this short but faithful sketch of his relation's character^ con- 
scious hoau highly he deserved, and hovj entirely he possessed^ the 
to've and the esteem of the deceased. 

It may to some appear strange that I do not rather address 
myself to the present lord, the eldest son of his father and the 
inheritor of his title. He, who knows he has no plea for slight- 
ing the friend, who has loved him, knows that he has put it out 
of my power, and that I must be of all men most insensible, if 
I did not poignantly feel and feelingly lament his unmerited 
neglect of me. If the foregoing pages ever meet his eyes, I 
hope the record of his father's virtues will inspire him to im- 
itate his father's example. 

I put in my plea for pardon in the very first page of my book 
with respect to errors in the dates of my disorderly produc- 
tions. I should have mentioned my comedy of The Impostor, 
and the publication of my novel of Arundel in two volumes, 
which I hastily put together whilst I was parsing a few idle 
weeks at Brighthelmstone, where I had no books but such as a 
circulating novel-shop afforded. I dispatched that work so 
rapidly, sending it to the press by parcels, of which my first 
copy was the only one, that I really do not remember what 
moved me to the undertaking, nor how it came to pass that the 
cacoethes scribendi nugas first got hold of me. Be this as it may, 
I am not about to affect a modesty, which I do not feel, or to 
seek a shelter from the sin of writing ill, by acknowledging the 
folly of writing rapidly, for I believe that Arundel has entertain- 
ed as many readers, and gained as good a character in the world 
as most heroes of his description, not excepting the immaculate 
Sir Charles Grandison, in whose company I have never found 
myself without being puzzled to decide, whether I am most 
edified by his morality, or disgusted by his pedantry. Arun- 
del perhaps, of all the children, which my brain has given birth 
to, had the least care and pains bestowed upon his education, 
yet he is a gentleman, and has been received as such in the first 
circles, for though he takes the wrong side of the question in 
his argument with Mortlake upon duelling, yet there is hardly 
qne to be found, who thinks with Mortlake, but would be 
ahamed out of society, if he did not act with Arundel. In 
the character of the Countess of G. I confess I have set virtue 
upon ice ; she slips, but does not fall ; and it I have endowed 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 28 1 

the young ladies with a degree of sensibility, that might have 
exposed them to danger, I flatter myself I have taken the prop- 
er means of rescuing them from it by marrying them respective- 
ly to the men of their hearts. 

The success however, which by this novel I obtained without 
labour, determined me to write a second, on which I was re- 
solved to bestow my utmost care and diligence. In this tem- 
per of mind I began to form to myself in idea what I conceived, 
should be the model of a perfect novel ; having after much de- 
liberation settled and adjusted this to the best of my judgment, 
I decided for the novel in detail ; rejecting the epistolary pro- 
cess, which I had pursued in Arundel, and also that, in which 
the hero speaks throughout, and is his oM'n biographer; though 
in p utting both these processes aside I felt much more hesitation 
in the last -mentioned case than in the first. 

Having taken Fielding's admirable novel of Tom Jones as my 
pattern in point of detail, I resolved to copy it also in its dis- 
tribution into chapters and books, and to prefix prefatory num- 
bers to the latter, to the composition of which I addressed my 
best attention. In some of these I have taken occasion to sub- 
mit those rules for the construction of a novel, which I flatter- 
ed myself might be of use to future writers in that line, less ex- 
perienced than iTjyself. How far I have succeeded is not for 
me to say, butif I have failed, I am without excuse, for I had 
this work in hand two full years, and gave more polish and cor- 
rection to the style, than ever I bestowed upon any of my pub- 
lished works before. The follov/ing few rples which I laid 
down for my own guidance, and strictly observed, I still per» 
suade myself are such as ought to be observed by others. 

I would have the story carried on in a regular uninterrupted 
progression of events, without those dull recitals, that call the 
attention oft" from what is going on, and compel it to look 
back, perhaps in the very crisis of curiosity, to circumstances 
antecedent to, and not always materially connected with, the 
history in hand. I ?.m decidedly adverse to episodes and sto- 
ries within stories, like that of the Man of the Hill in Tom 
Jones, and in general all expedients of procrastination, which 
come under the description of mere tricks to torture ciu-iosity, 
are in my opinion to be very sparingly resorted to, if not total- 
ly avoided. Casualties and broken-bones, and faintings and 
high fevers with ramblings of delirium and rhapsodies of non- 
sense are perfectly contemptible. I think descriptive writing, 
properly so distinguished, is very apt to describe nothing, and 
that landscapes upon paper leave no jDicture in the mind, and 
only load the page with daubings, that in the author's fancy 
may be sketches after nature, but to the reader's eye offer 
nothing but confusion. A novel, proassing itself to be the de- 
lineation of men and women as they are in nature, should in 
general confine itself to the relation of things probable, and 
Z2 



282 MEMOIRS OF 

though in skilful hands it may be made to touch upon things 
barely possible, the seldomer it risques those experiments, the 
better opinion I should form of the contriver's conduct : I do 
liot think quotations ornament it, and poetry must be extreme- 
ly good before I can allow it is of any use to it. In short there 
. should be authorities in nature for every thing that is introduced, 
and the only case I can recollect in which the creator of the fic- 
titious man may and ought to differ from the biographer of the 
real man, is, that the former is bound to deal out his reward*. ttx 
the virtuous and punishments to the vicious, whilst the latter 
has noz-hoicc but to adhere to the truth of facts, and leave his 
her*.- neither worse nor better than he found him. 

Monsters of cruelty and crime. Monks and Zelucos, horrors 
and thunderings and ghosts are creatures of another region, 
tools appropriated to another trade, and are only to be handled 
by dealers in old castles and manufacturers of romances. 

As the tragic drama may be not improperly described as an 
epic poem of compressed action, so I think we may call the novel 
a dilated comedy ; though Henry Fielding, who was pre-eminent- 
ly happy in the one, was not equally so in the other : non omnia 
possumns omties. If the readers of Henry have agreed with me in 
the principles laid down in those prefatory chapters, and here 
again brieHy touched upon, I flatter myself they found a novel 
conducted throughout upon those very principles, and which 
in no one instance does a violence to nature, or resorts to forced 
and im.probable expedients to excite surprise ; I flatter myself 
they found a story regularly progressive without any of those 
vetrogradations or counter-marches, which break the line, and 
discompose the arrangement of the fable : I hope they found 
me duly careful to keep the principal characters in sight, and 
above all if I devoted myself row amore to the delineation of Zach- 
ary Camjdle, and in a more particular manner to the best servi- 
ces I could perform for the good Ezekiel Daiv, I warmly hope 
they did not think my partiality quite misapplied, or my labour 
of lo-ve entirely thrown away. 

If in my zeal to exhibit virtue triumphant over the most 
tempting allurem.ents, I have painted those allurements in too 
\ivid colours I am sorry, and ask pardon of all those,who thought 
the moral did not heal the mischief. 

If my critics have not been too candid I am encouraged to 
believe, that in these volumes of Henry, and in those of The Ob- 
ser-ver, I have succeeded in what I laboured to effect with all 
my care — a simple, clear, harmonious style ; which, taken as a 
model, may be followed without leading the novitiate either in- 
to turgidity or obscurity, holding a middle tone of period, nei- 
ther swelling into high-flown metaphor, nor sinking into inele- 
gant and unclassical rusticity. Whether or not I have succeed- 
ed, I certainly have attempted, to reform and purify my native 
language from certain false pedantic prevalencies, which were 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 298 

much in fashion, when I first became a writer ; I dare not say 
with those, whose flattery might mislead me, that I have ac- 
complished what I aimed at, but if I have done something 
towards it, I may say, with Pliny — Pojterh an aliqua cura noi- 
tri, nescio. Nos certe meremur ut jit aliqua ; non dicam ingenio; id 
enim superbum ; sed stttdio, sed labore, jed re'verentia posterorum. 

The mental gratification, which the exercise of the fancy in 
;the act of composition gives me, has, (with the exception only 
of the task I am at present engaged in) led me to that inordinate 
consumption of paper, of which much has been profitless, much 
unseen, and very much of that which has been seen, vould 
have been more worthy of the world, had I bestowed more 
blotting upon it before I committed it to the press : yet I am 
now about to mention a poem not the most imperfect of my 
various productions, of which the first manuscript copy was the 
only one, and that perhaps the fairest I had ever put out of my 
hands. Heroic verse has been always more familiar to me, and 
more easy in point of composition, than prose : my thoughts 
flow more freely in metre, and I can oftentimes fill a page with 
less labour and less time in verse of that description, than it 
costs me to adjust and harmonize a single period in prose to 
my entire satisfaction. 

The work I now allude to is my poem of Calvary, and the 
gratification, of which I have been speaking, mixed as I trust with 
worthier and more serious motives, led me to that undertaking. 
It had never been my hard lot to write, as many of my superi- 
ors have been forced to do, task-work for a bookseller, it was 
therefore my custom, as it is with voluptuaries of another de- 
scription, to fly from one pursuit to another for the greater 
zest which change and contrast gave to my intellectual pleas- 
ures. I had as yet done nothing in the epic way, except my 
juvenile attempt, of which I have given an extract, and I appli- 
ed myself to the composition of Calvary with uncommon ar- 
dour ; I began it in the winter, and, rising every morning some 
hours before day-light, soon dispatched the whole poem of eight 
books at the average of full fifty lines in a day, of which I kept 
a regular account, marking each day's work upon my manu- 
script. I mention this, because it is a fact ; but I am not so 
mistaken as to suppose that any author can be entitled to take 
credit to himself for the little care he has bestowed upon his 
compositions. 

It was not till I had taken up Milton's immortal poem of 
Paradise Lost, and read it studiously, and completely through, 
that I brought the plan of Cal'vary to a consistency, and resolv- 
ed to venture on the attempt. I saw such aids in point of char- 
acter, incident and diction, such facilities held out by the sa- 
cred historians, as encouraged me to hope I might aspire to in- 
troduce my humble Muse upon that hallowed ground without 
profaning it. 



284, MEMOIRS or 

- As for the difficulties, which by the nature of his subject Mil- 
ton had to encounter, I perceived them to be such as nothing 
but the genius of Milton could surmount : that he has failed in 
some instances cannot be denied, but It is matter of wonder and 
admiration, that he has miscarried in so few. The noble struc- 
ture he has contrived to raise with the co-operation of two hu- 
man beings only, and those the first created of the human race, 
strikes us with astonishment ; but at the same time it forces 
him upon such frequent flights beyond the bounds of nature, 
and oblige:! him in so great a degree to depend upon the agen- 
cy of supernatural beings, of whose persons we have no proto- 
type, and of whose operations, offices and intellectual powers 
we are incompetent to form any adequate conception, that it is 
not to be wondered at, if there are parts and passages in that 
divine poem, that we either pass over by choice, or cannot read 
without regret. 

Upon a single text in scripture he has described a Battle in 
Heaven, in most respects tremendously sublime, in others pain- 
fully reminding us how impossible it is for man's limited im- 
agination to find weapons for immortal spirits, or conceive an 
arm.y of rebellious angels employing instruments of human in- 
vention upon the vain impossible idea, that their material artil- 
lery could shake the immaterial throne of the One Supreme Be- 
ing, the Almighty Creator and Disposer of them and the uni- 
verse. Accordingly when we are presented with the descrip- 
tion of Christ, the meek Redeemer of mankind, going forth in 
a chariot to the battle, brilliant although the picture is, it daz- 
zles and we start from it revolted by the blaze . But when the 
poet, deeming himself competent to find words for the Almigh- 
ty, contrives a conference between the First and Second Persons 
in the Trinity, we are compelled to say with Pope 

That God the Father turns a school-di'vine. 

I must entreat my readers not so to misconceive my meaning 
as to suppose me vain enough to think, that by noticing these 
iipots in Milton's glorious sun, I am advancing my dim lamp to 
zxiy the most distant competition with it. I have no other mo- 
tive for mentioning them but to convince the patrons of ' ese 
Memoirs, that 1 did not attempt the composition of a sacred 
epic, where he must for ever stand so decidedly pre-eminent, 
till by comparing the facilities of my subject with the amazing 
difficulties of his, I had found a bow proportioned to my 
strength, and did not presume to bend it till I was certified cf 
its flexibility. 

It could not possibly be overlooked by me, that in taking the 
Death of Christ for my subject, I had the advantage of dating 
;my poem at a point of time, the most avv'ful in the whole histo- 
ry of the world, the most pregnant with sublime events^ and 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 28o 

the most fully fraught with grand and interesting characters; 
that I had those characters, and those events, so pointedly deli- 
neated and so impressively described by the inspired historians, 
as to leave little else for me to do, but to restrain invention, and 
religiously to follow in the path, that was chalked out to me. 
Accordingly I trust there will be found very little of the audac- 
ity of fancy in the composition of Calvary, and few sentiments 
or expressions ascribed to the Saviour, which have not the sanc- 
tion and authority of the sacred records. When he descends 
into Hades I have endeavoured to avail myself of what has been 
revealed to us for those conjectural descriptions, and I hope I 
have not far outstepped discretion, or heedlessly indulged a 
wild imagination ; for though I venture upon untouched ground, 
presuming to unfold a scene, which mystery has involved in 
darkness, yet I have the visions of the Saint at Patmos to hold 
up a light to me, and assist me in my efforts to pervade futurity. 

My first publication of Calvary in quarto had so languid a 
sale, that it left me with the inconvenient loss of at least one 
hundred pounds, and the discouraging conviction, that the pub- 
lic did not concern itself about the poem, or the poem-maker ; 
I felt at the same time a proud indignant consciousness, that it 
claimed a better treatment, and whilst I called to mind the true 
and brotherly devotion I had ever borne to the fame of my 
contemporaries, I was stung by their neglect ; and having laid 
my poem on the death of my Redeemer at the feet of my Sover- 
eign, which, for aught that ever reached my knowledge, he 
might, or might not, have received by the hand of his librarian, 
I had nothing to console me but the reflection that there would 
perhaps be a tribunal, that would deal out justice to me, when 
I could not be a gainer by it, and speak favourably of my per- 
formance, when I could not hear their praises. 

I shall now take leave of Calvary after acknowledging my ob- 
ligations to my publishers for their speculation of a new edi- 
tion, and also to the purchasers of that edition for their recon- 
cilement to a book, which, till it was reduced to a more port- 
able size, they ware little disposed to take away with them. 

I consider Tristram Shandy as the most eccentric work of 
my time, and Junius the most acrimonious ; we have heard 
much of his style ; I have just been reading him over with at- 
tention, and I confess I can see but little to admire. The thing 
to wonder at is, that a secret, to which several mu&t have been 
privy, has been so strictly kept ; if Sir William Draper, who 
baffled him in some of his assertions, had kept his name out of 
sight, I am inclined to think he might have held up the cause of 
candour with success. The publisher of Junius I am told was 
deeply guaranteed ; of course, although he might not know his 
author, he must have known whereabouts to look for him. I 
never heard that my friend Lord George Germain was amongat 
the suspected authors, till by way of jest he told me so not ma- 



'JS6 MEMOIRS OF 

ny days before his death : I did not want him to disavow it, fo/ 
there could be no occasion to disprove an absolute impossibility. 
The man who wrote it, had a savage heart, for some of his at- 
tacks are execrable; he was a hypocrite, for he disavows pri- 
vate motives, and makes pretensions to a patriotic spirit. I can 
perfectly call to mind the general effect of his letters, and am of 
opinion that his malice overshot its mark. Let the anonymous 
defamer be as successful as he may, it is but an unenviable tri- 
umph, a mean and cowardly gratification, which his dread of a 
discovery forbids him to avow. 

As for Trlitram Shandy., whose mar>y plagiarisms are now de- 
tected, his want of delicacy is unpardonable, and his tricks 
have too much of frivolity and buffoonery in them to pass up- 
on the reader ; but his real merit lies not only in his general 
conception of character, but in the address, with which he marks 
them out by those minute, yet striking, touches of his pencil, 
that make his descriptions pictures, and his pictures life : in the 
pathetic he excels, as his story of Lefevre witnesses, but he seems 
to have mistaken his powers, and capriciously to have misappli- 
ed his genius. 

I conceive there is not to be found in all the writings of my 
day, perhaps I may say not in the English language, so bril- 
liant a cluster of fine and beautiful passages in the declamatory 
style, as we are presented with in Edmund Burke's inimitable 
tract upon the French Revolution. It is most highly coloured 
and most richly ornamented, but there is elegance in its splen- 
dour, and dignity in its magnificence. The orator demands 
attention in a loud and lofty tone, but his voice never loses its 
melody, nor his periods their sweetness. When he has roused 
us with the thunder of his eloquence, he can at once, Timothe- 
us-like, chuse a melancholy theme, and melt us hito pity : there 
is grace in his anger ; for he can inveigh without vulgarity ; he 
can modulate the strongest bursts of passion, for even in his 
madness there is music. 

I was so charmed with the style and matter of this pamphlet, 
that I could not withstand the pleasure of intruding upon him 
with a letter of thanks, of which I took no copy, but fortunate- 
Jy have preserved his answer to it, which is as follows 

" Beconsfield, November 1 3th, 1790. 
" Dear Sir, 

" I was yesterday honoured with your most obliging let- 
ter. You may be assured, that nothing could be more flatter- 
ing to me than the approbation of a gentleman so distinguished 
in literature as you are, and in so great a variety of its branches. 
It is an earnest to me of that degree of toleration in the public? 
judgment, which may give my reasonings some chance of being 
useful. I know, however, that I am indebted to your polite- 
ness and your g9od nature as much as to your opinion, for the' 



RICH4RD CUMBERLAND. 23Y 

indulgent manner, in which you have been pleased to receive my 
endeavour. Whether I have described our countrymen proper- 
ly, time is to shew : I hope I have, but at any rate it is perhaps 
the best way to persuade them to be right by supposing that 
they are so. Great bodies, like great men, must be instructed 
in the way, in which they will be best pleased to receive instruc- 
tion ; flattery itself may be converted into a mode of counsel : 
laiidando admoncre has not always been the most unsuccessful 
method of advice. In this case moral policy requires it, for 
when you must expose the practices of some kinds of men, you 
do nothing if you do not distinguish them from others. 

" Accept once more my best acknowledgments for the very 
handsome manner, in which you have been pleased to consider 
my pamphlet, and do me the justice to believe me with the most 
perfect respect, 

" Dear Sir, 

" Your most faithful 

" And obliged humble servant, 

« Edm. Burke." 

Am I, or am I not, to regret that this fine writer devoted 
himself so professedly to politics ? I conceive there must be 
two opinions upon this question amongst his contemporaries, 
and only one that will be entertained by posterity. Those who 
heard his parliamentary speeches with delight,, will not easily 
be induced to wish that lie had spoken less ; whilst thobe, who 
can only rt^ad him, will naturally regret that he had not written 
more, 'i he orator, like the actor, lives only in the memory of 
his hearers, and '■v. fame must rest upon tradition : Mr. Burke 
in parliament enjoyed the triumph of a day, but Mr. Binke on 
papt r would have been the founder of his own immortality. 

Amongst the variety of branches, to which Mr. Burke is pleas- 
ed so flatteringly to allude, and which certainly are more in 
number than the literary annals of any author in my recollection 
can exhibit, I reflect with satisfaction that I have devoted much 
time and thought to serious vsubjects, and been far from idle 
luke-warm in the service of religion. I have written at different 
times as many seraions as would make a large volume, some of 
which have been delivered from the puipits : I have rendered 
into English metre iifty of the psalms of David, which are print- 
ed by Mr. Strange of Tunbridge Wells, and upon which I flat- 
ter myself I have not in vain bestowed my best attention. I 
have for some years been in the habit of composing an appro- 
priate prayer of thanksgiving for the last day in the year, and of 
supplication for the first day in the succeeding year. I publish- 
ed by Messrs. Lackington and Co. a religious and argumenta- 
tive tract, intitled Afeuj Plain Rea^ons for believing in the Ev- 
idences of the Chrio.ia I Revelation ; and this tract, wnich I 
conceive to be orthodox ia all its points, and unanswerably dem- 



288 MEMOIRS OF 

onstrative as a confutation of all the false reasoners accordiag 
to the new philosophy, I presented with all due deference to 
the Bishop of London, who was pleas ■•' In honour me with a 
very gracious acknowledgment by ie.tf r, and likewise to the 
late Archbishop of Canterbury, who was not pleased to ac- 
knowledge it in any way whatever. But I had no particular 
right to expect it : all regulars are not equally candid to the 
volunteer, as I have good reason to know. 

I have selected several passages from the Old Testament, and 
turned them into verse : they are either totally lost, or buried 
out of sight in the chaos of my manuscripts ; I find one only 
amongst the few loose papers I have with me, and I take the 
liberty of inserting it : — 

" Judges^ Chapter the 5th. 

" Hear, all earth's crowned monarchs, hear ! 
Princes and judges, to my song give ear : 
To Israel's God my voice I'll raise, 
And joyful chaunt Jehovah's praise. 
Lord, when in Edom's glorious day 
Thou wentest forth in bright array, 
Earth to her inmost centre shook. 
The mountains melted at thy look, 
The clouds drop't down their wat'ry store. 
Rent with the thunder's loud tremendous roar. 

<* Must I remember Shamgar's gloomy days. 
And that sad time when Jael rul'd our coast ? 
No print of foot then mark'd our public ways, 
Waste horror reign'd, the human face was lost. 
Then I, I Deborah, assum'd command, 
The nursing mother of the drooping land ; 
Then was our nation alien from the Lord, 
Then o'er our heads high wav'd the hostile sword, 
Nor shield, nor spear, was found to arm for fight, 
And naked thousands turn'd their backs in flight. 

" But now awake, my soul, and thou arise, 
Barak ; to thee the victory is giv'n ; 
Let our joint song ascend the skies. 
And celebrate the majesty of heav'n. 
On me, the priestess of the living Lord, 
The care of Israel was bestow'd : 
Ephraim and Benjamin obey'd my word, 
The Scribes of Zebulon allegiance shew'd, 
Anci Issachar, a princely train. 
With g;'i ::ering ensigns dazzled all the plain. 
But Oh ! what sad divisions keep 



RICHAjLD CUMBERLAND. -■ :- 

Reuben inglorious 'midst his bleating sheep i 
Gilead in Jordan his asylum seeks, 
Dan in his ships, and Asher in his creeks. 
Whilst Naphthali's more warlike sons expose 
Their gallant lives, and dare their country's foes. 
Then was the battle fought by Canaan's kings 
In Ta'anach beside Megiddo springs : 
The stars themselves 'gainst Sisera declare ; 

Israel is heaven's peculiar care. 

Old Kishon stain'd with hostile blood, 

Roll'd to the main a purple flood ; 

The neighing steed, the thund'ring car 

Proclaim'd the terrors of the war ; 

But high in honour 'bove the rest 

Be Jael our avenger blest, 
Blest above women ! to her tent she drew 
With seeming friendship Jabel's mighty chief; 
Fainting with heat and toil he sought rehei. 
He slept, and in his sleep her weary guest she slew. 
The workman's hammer in this hand she took. 
In that the fatal nail, then boldly struck ; 
Through both his temples drove the deadly wound, 
Transiix'd his brain and pinn'd him to the ground. 
Why stays my son, his absent mother cries ; 
When shall I welcome his returning car. 
Loaded with spoils ofconqu'ring war i 
Ah, wretched mother, hide thine eyes ; 
At Jael's feet a headless trunk he lies — 
So Sisera fell, and God made wars to cease, 
So rested Israel, and the land had peace." 

Of my dramatic pieces I must say in the gross, that if I did 
not always succeed in entertaining the audience, I continued to 
amuse myself. I brought out a comic opera in three acts,found- 
ed on the story of M^'at Tyler, which being objected to by the 
Lord Chamberlain, I was obliged to new model, and produce 
under the title of The Armourer. When I had taken all the com- 
edy out of it, I was not surprized to 'find that the public were 
not very greatly edified by what was left. 

I also brought out a comedy called The Country Attorney at 
the summer theatre, when it was under the direction of the el- 
der Mr. Colman. At the same theatre, under the auspices of 
the present candid and ingenious superintendant, I produced 
my comedy of The Box-Lobby Challenge, and my drama of Bon 
Pedro. 

When the new and splendid theatre of Drury-Lane was open- 
ed, my comedy of The Jew was represented, and if I am not 
mistaken, (I speak upon conjecture) it was the first new piece 
exhibited on that stage. I am ashamed to say with what rapid- 
A A 



290 MEMOIRS OF 

ity I dispatched that hasty composition, but my friend Bannis= 
tcr, who saw it net by act, was a witness to the progress of it ; 
in what degree he was a promoter of the success of it I need 
not say : poor Suett also, now no more, was an admirable 
second. 

The benevolence of theaudienoe assisted me in rescuing a for - 
lorn and peryccutcd character, which tiil then had only been 
brought upon the stage for the unmanly purpose of being made 
a spectacle of contempt, and a butt for ridicule : In the success 
of this comedy I felt of course a greater gratification, than I had 
ever felt before upon a like occasion. 

The part of Sheva pi-esented Mr. Bannister to the public in 
that light, in which ne will always be seen, w^hen nature fairly 
drawn and strongly charactered is committed to his care. Let 
the poet give him the model, and his animation will give it the 
action and the life. 

It has also served as a stepping-stone to the stage for an ac- 
tor, who in my judgment, (and I am not afraid of being singu- 
lar in that opinion) stands amongst the highest of his profession ; 
for if quick conception, true discrimination, andthe happy fac- 
ulty of incarnating the idea of his poet, are properties essential 
in the almost undefmable composition of a great and perfect ac- 
tor, these and many more will be found in Mr. Dowton. Let 
those, who have a claim upon his services, call him to situations 
not unworthy of his best exertions, and the stage will feel the 
value of his talents. 

The Wheel of Fortune came out in the succeeding season, and 
First Lot'e followed close upon its steps. They were success- 
ful comedies, and very powerfully supported by the performers 
of them in every part throughout. I was fortunate in the plot 
of the first ; for there is dignity of mind in the forgiveness of in- 
jui-ies, which elevates the character of Penruddock, and Mr. 
Kemble's just personification of it added to a lucky fiction all 
the force and interest of a reality. When so much belongs to 
the actor, the author must be careful how he arrogates too much 
to himself. 

Of First Lo've I shall only say, that when two such exquisite 
actresses conspired to support me, I will not be so vain as to 
presume I could have stood without their help. 

I think, as I am now so near the conclusion of these Memoirs, 
I may as well wind up my dealings with the theatres before I 
proceed any further. I am beholden to Covent Garden for ac- 
cepting my dramas of The Days of Tore and False Impressions — 
To Drury Lane for The Last of the Family, The Word for Na- 
ture, The Depetidant, The Eccentric Lover, and for The Sailor's 
Daughter. Wy life has been a long one, and my health of late 
years uninterrupted ; I am very rarely called off by avocations 
of an undomestic kind, and the man, who gives so very small a 
portion of his time to absolute idleness as I have done, will do 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 291 

a vast deal in the course of time, cspeciali/ if his body does not 
stand in need of exercise, and his mind, wMch never knows re- 
mission of activity, incessantly demands co be employed. 

I was in the practice of interchanging an annual visit with 
Mrs. Bludworth of Holt near Winchester, the dearest friend of 
my wife. When I was upon those visits I used to amuse my- 
self with trifles, that required no application to my boo!:s. A 
few from amongst many of these fugitive compositions appear 
to me not totally unworthy of being arrested and brought to the 
bar as petti-larcenaiy pilferers of the sonnet-writing style, of 
which some elegant sisters of the Muses have published such 
ingenious originals, as ought to have secured them against in- 
terlopers, who have nothing better to produce than some such 
awkward imitations as the following — 



WIT. 

No. 1. 

«* How shall I paint thee, many-colour'd Wit ? 
Where are the pallet's brilliant tints to \ie 
With the bright flash of thine electric eye ? 
Nor can I catch the glance ; nor wilt thou sit 

Till my slow copying art can trace 

One feature of thy varying face. 

Soul of the social board, thy quick retort 
Can cut the disputatious quibber short, 
Stop the dull pedant's circumstantial saw, 
And silence ev'n the loud-tongu'd man of law. 

The solemn ass, who dully great 
Mistakes stupidity for state. 
Unbends his marble jaws, and brays 
Involuntary, painful praise. 

Thou, Wit, in philosophic eyes 
Can'st make the laughing waters rise ; 
Proud Science viils with bended knee 
His academic cap to thee. 
And though thy sallies fly the test 
Of truth, she titters at the jest. 

Thrice happy talent, couldst thou understand 

Virtue to spare and buflfet vice alone, 
Would'st thou but take discretion by the hand. 

The world, O Wit, the world would be thine own." 



ii^e MEMOIRS OF 

AFFECTATION. 

No. 2. 

'< Why, Affectation, why this mock grimace ? 
Go, silly thing, and hide that simpering face ! 
Thy lisping prattle and thy mincing gait, 
All thy false mimic fooleries I hate ; 
For thou art Folly's counterfeit, and she. 
Who is right-foolish, hath the better plea ; 
Nature's true ideot I prefer to thee. 

Why that soft languish ? Why that drawling tone? 
Art sick, art sleepy ? — Get thee hence ; begone ! 
I laugh at all those pretty baby tears, 
Those flutterings, faintings and unreal fears. 

Can they deceive us ? Can such mumm'rics move. 
Touch us with pity, or inspire with love ? 
No, Affectation, vain is all thine art, 
Those eyes may wander over every pa»1; ; 
They'll never iind their passage to the heart." 

VANITY. 

No. 3. 

*< Go, Vanity, spread forth the painted wing ; 
I'll harm thee not, gay flutterer, not I ; 

Poor innocent, thou hast no sting. 
Pass on unhurt ! I war not with a fly. 

But if the Muse in sportive style 

Banters thy silly freaks awhile, 
■^- Fear not — she'll lash thee only with a smile. 

If thou art heard too loud of tongue, 

And thy small tap of wit runs out 

Too fast and bubbles all about, 
^Twere charity methinks to stop the bung. 

If when thou should'st be staid and sage, 

Thou'lt take no warning from old age, 

But still run riot, and spread sail 

In all the colours of the peacock's tail : 
If, with two hollow cheeks bedaub'd with red. 
The Ostrich plume nods on thy palsied head. 
And with soft glances from lack-lustre eyes 
Thou alm'st to make our hearts thy beauty's prize, 
Then, then, Dame Vanity, beware ; 

Look to thvself-— beshrew me, if I spare." 



RICHARD CUiMBERLAND. 293 

AVARICE. 

No. 4. 

*< A little more, and yet a little more — 
Oh, for the multiplying art 
To heap the still-increasing store. 
Till it make Oisa like a nuart I 

O Avarice, thou rage accurst, 

Insatiate dropsy of the soul, 

Will nothing quench thy sordid thirst ? 

Were the sea gold, would'st drink the whole ? 

Lo ! pity pleads— What then ? There's none-"*- 
The widow kneels for bread^Begone — 
Hark, in thine ears the orphans cry ; 
They die of famine — Let them die. — 

Oh scene of woe ; heart-rending sight ! 
Can'st thou turn from them I — Yes, behold — ! 
From all those heaps of hoarded gold 
Not one, one piece to save them \ — Not a mite. — 
Pitiless wretch, such shall thy sentence be 
At the last day when Mercy turns from thee," 

PRUDERY. 

No. 5. 

" What is that stiff and stately thing I see i 

Of flesh and blood like you and me. 

Or is it cbibsel'd out of stone, 
Some statue from its pedestal stept down ? 

'Tis one and both — a very prude 

Of marble flesh and icy blood ; • 

Dead and alive at once — behold. 
It breathes and lives ; touch it, 'tis dead and cold. 

Look how it throws the scowling eye 

On Picasare as she dances by ; 
Quick flies the sylph, for long she cannot bear 
The damping rigour of its atmosphere, 

Chill as the eastern fog that blights 

Each blossom upon which it lights. 

Say, ye that know what virtue is, declare, 
Is tnis the form her votaries mugt.wear ? 
A A 2 



«P4 MEMOIRS OF 

Tell me in time ; if such it needs must be. 
Virtue and I shall never more agi"ee." 

ENVY. 

No. 6. 

(See The Observer. Vol. 4. No. 94.^ 

PRIDE. 

No. 7. 

•■ Curst in thyself, O Pride, thou canst not be 

More competently curst by me. 
Kence, sullen, self-tormenting, stupid sot ! 
Thy dullness damps our joys ; we want thee not. 

Round the gay table side by side 
Social we sit ; there is no room for Pride : 
We cannot bear thy melancholy face ; 
The company is full ; thou hast no place. 

Man, man, thou little groveling elf, 
Turn thine eyes inward, view thyself ; 
Draw out thy balance, hang it forth, 
Weigh every atom thou art worth. 
Thy peerage, pedigree, estate, 
{The pains that Fortune took to make thee great) 
Toss them all in — stars, garters, strings, 
Heap up the mass of tawdry things, 
The whole regalia of kings — 
Now watch the beam, and fairly say 
How much does all this trumpery weigh T 
Give in the total ; let the scale be just, 
And own, proud mortal, own thou art but dust." 

HUMILITY. 

No. 8. 

" Oh sweet Humility can words impart 
■ How much I love thee, how divine thou art r 
Nurse us not only in our infant age, 
Conduct us still through each successive stage 
Of varying life, lead us from youth's gay prime 
To the last step of man's appointed time. 

Wit. Genius, Learning — What are these I 
The painter's colours or the poet's lays, 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 295 

If without thee they cannot please, 
If without thee we cannot praise .' 

Why do I call my lov'd Eliza fair ? 

Why do I doat upon her faded face ? 

Nor rosy health, nor blooming youth is there ; 

Humility bestows the angel grace. 

Where should a frail and trembling sinner lie, 
How ahould a Christian live, how should he die, 
But in thine arms, conscious Humility ? 

'Twas in thy form the world's Redeemer came. 
And condescended to his human birth, 
With thee he met revilings, death and shame, 
Though angels hail'd him Lord of heav'n and earth." 

When the consequences resulting from the French revolution 
had involved ug in a war, our country called upon its patriotic 
volunteers to turn out and assemble in its defence. I was still 
resident at Tunbridge Wells, and, though not proprietor of a 
single foot of land in the county of Kent, yet I found myself in 
the hearts of my affectionate friends and fellow subjects ; they 
immediately volunteered to mount and form themselves under 
my command as a troop of yeomen cavalry : I was diffident of 
my fitness to head them in that capacity, and, declining their 
kind offer, recommended to them a neighbouring gentleman, 
who had served in the line, and held the rank of a field officer 
upon half pay. Men of their principles and spirit could not 
fail to be respectable, and they are now serving with credit to 
their captain and themselves under the command of the Lord 
Viscount Boyne, v*ho resides at Tunbridge Wells, and togeth- 
er wiih the duties attendant on his commission, as commander 
of this respectable coi-ps, executes the office of a magistrate for 
the county, not less amiable and honourable in his private 
character, than useful and patriotic in his public one. 

Some time after this, when certain leading gentlemen of the 
county began to make their tenders to government for raising 
corps of volunteer infantry, I no longer hesitated to obey the 
vinshes of the loyal and spirited young men, who offered to en- 
roll themselves under my command, and finding them amount 
upon the muster to two full companies, properly ofiicered, I 
reported them to our excellent Lord Lieutenant of the county, 
the Earl of Roniney, and received His Majesty's commission to 
command them with the rank of Major Commandant. I had 
instant proof that the zeal they had shewn in turning out in 
their king and country's cause did not evaporate in mere pro- 
fessions, for to their assiduity and aptitude, to their exemplary 
and correct observance of discipliae, and btrict obedience to 



296 MEMOIRS OF 

their officers, the warmest testimony that I could give, would 
only do them justice. It was winter when we first enrolled, 
and every evening after striking work till ten o'clock at night 
we were incessantly at the drill, and after we had been prac- 
tised in the manual, sometimes turning out for the march by 
moon-light, sometimes by torch-light. I had not a private that 
was not in the vigour of his yonth, their natural carriage was 
erect and soldier-like, they fell readily into the attitude and 
step of a soldier on the march, for they were all artizans, me- 
chanics, or manufacturers of Tunbridge-ware, and I had not 
one, who did the work of a mere labouring peasant amongst 
them, whilst every officer submitted to the rule I laid down, 
and did the duty and learnt the exercise of a private in the line 
before he stood out and took command in his proper post. 

Our service being limited to the district of the counties of 
Kent, Sussex and Surry, no sooner were my companions fit for 
duty, than at their unanimous desire I reported them to the 
Secretary of State as ready and willing to sei-ve in any part of 
England, and this their loyal tender being laid before the King, 
His Majesty was graciously pleased to signify to us his royal 
approbation of our zeal through his Secretary of State. 

When the volunteer infantry v/ere dismissed at the peace of 
Amiens, my men requested Isave to hold their arms and serve 
without pay. At the same time they were pleased to honour 
me with the present of a sword by the hands of their Serjeant 
Major, to the purchase of which every private had contributed, 
and which they rendered infinitely dear and valuable to me by 
engraving on the hilt of it — '< That it was a tribute of their es- 
teem for their beloved coramander." 

The renewal of hostilities has again put them under my com- 
mand, and I trust the warmth and sincerity of my unalterable 
attachment to them has now no need of appealing to profes- 
sions. We know each other too well, and I am persuaded that 
there is not one amongst them, but will give mt credit for the 
truth when I declare, that as a father loves his children, so do 
I love them. We have now augmented our strength to four 
compan'.es, and from the exp^-riencel have repeatedly had of 
their conduct, whon upon permanent duty, I am convinced, 
that if ever the neces:;ity shall occur for calling them out upon 
actual service^ they will b- fou 'd steady in the hour of trial, 
and perfectly resolved nev;r to disgrace the c.'iaiacter of Men 
of Kent, or tarnish that proud .ropliy, which they inscribe up- 
on their coioius. 

I harnbly conceive, thai If we take into our consideration the 
prodigicms magnitude -i-d extent of the volunteer system, we 
shall find it haf, been produciive of more real use, and less inci- 
dental etiibarras.xent, to government, than could have been ex- 
pected. We must maks allowances for chosev wl o have been 
accuotomed lo uok for the btrengvh and resources of the naiion 



RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 297 

only in its disposable force, if they are apt to undervalue the 
importance of its domestic army. But after the proofs, which 
the capital and country have given of the spirit, discipline and 
good order of their volunteers, both cavalry and infantry, it is 
not wise or politic, or liberal to disparage them as some have at- 
tempted to do ; there are indeed but few, who have so done ; 
the wonder is that there are any ; but that a man should be so 
fond of his own dull jest as to risque it upon one, who has too 
much wit of his own not to spy out the want of it in others, is 
perfectly ridiculous ; and I am persuaded, that a man of Colo- 
nel Birch's acknowledged meiit as an officer, and established 
character for every good quality, that denotes and marks the 
gentleman, would infinitely rather be the object of such a point- 
less sarcasm, than the author of it. 

The man, who lives to see many days, must look to encoun- 
ter many sorrows. My eldest son, who had married the eldest 
daughter of the late Earl of Buckinghamshire, and sister of the 
present, died in Tobago, where he went to qualify for a civil 
employment in that island ; and, sometime after, death bereft 
me of my wife. Their virtues cannot need the ornament of 
description, and it has ever been my study to resign myself to 
the dispensations of Providence with all the fortitude I can sum- 
mon, convinced that patience is no mark of insensibility, nor the 
parade of lamentation any evidence of the sincerity or perma- 
nency of grief. 

My two surviving sons are happily and respectably married, 
and have families ; I have the care, under chancery, of five chil- 
dren, relicts of the late William Badcock, Esquire, who married 
my second daughter, and died in my house at Tunbridge Wells, 
and I have the happiness to number nineteen gr.mdchildren, 
some of whom have already lived to crown my warmest wish- 
es, and I see a promise in the rest, that flatters my most san- 
guine hopes. These are comforts, that still adhere to me, and 
whilst I have the kindness of my children, the attachment of 
my friends and the candour of the public to look up to, I have 
ample cause to be thankful and contented. 

Charles, the elder of my surviving sons, married the daughter 
of General Mathew, a truly noble and benevolent gentleman, 
loved and honoured by all who know him, and who will be ev, 
er gratefully remembered by the island he has governed, and the 
army he has commanded. 

William, the youngest, married Eliza, daughter of Mrs. Burt, 
and, when commanding His Majesty's ship the La Pique, in the 
West Indies, being seized with the fever of the country at Saint 
Domingo, was sent home, as the only chance of saving him, and 
constrained to forfeit the command of that very capital frigate. 
When the young and amiable Princess Amelia was residing at 
Worthing for the benefit of the sea and air, my son, then com- 
mander of the Fly sloop of war, kept guard upon that station, 



298 MEMOIRS OF 

prepared to accommodate her Royal Highness with his boats or 
vessels in any excursions on the water, which she might be ad- 
vised to take. I came to Worthing, whilst he was there upon 
duty, and was permitted to pay my homage to the Princess. 
It was impossible to contemplate youth and beauty suffering 
tortures with such exemplaiy patience, and not experience those 
sensations of respect and pity, which such a contemplation nat- 
urally must inspire. When my daughter-in-law. Lady Albinia 
Cumberland, took her turn of duty as lady of the bed-chamber, 
I took the liberty through her hands to otfer the few stanzas 
which are here inserted 

** How long, just heav'n, shall Britain's royal maid 
With meek submission these sad hours sustain ? 
How long shall innocence invoke thine aid, 
And youth and beauty press the couch of pain ? 

Enough, dread pow'r, unless it be decreed, 
To reconcile thee in these evil times, 
That one pure victim for the whole should bleed. 
And by her suflTerings expiate our crimes. 

And sure I am, in thine offended sight 
If nothing but perfection ca'n atone, 
No wonder thy chastising rod should light 
On one, who hath no errors of her own. 

But spare. Ah spare this object of our love, 
For whose dear sake we're punish'd in our fears ; 
Send down thy saving angel from above, 
And quench her pangs in our repentant tears. 

Yes, they shall win compassion from the skies, 
Man cannot he more merciful than heav'n : 
Thy pangs, sweet saint, thy patience shall suffice, 
And at thy suit our faults shall be forgiv'n. 

And if, whilst every subject's heart is rack'd, 
Our pious King presents a father's plea, 
What hea\'n with justice might from us exact 
Heaven's mercy will remit to him and thee. 

Nor will I doubt if thy dear mother's prayer, 
Breath'd from her sorrowing bosom, shall prevail ; 
The sighs of angels are not lost in air, 
Can then Amelia's sister-suitors fail i 

Come then, heart-healing cherub, from on high» 
Fresh dipt in dew of Paradise descend. 



RICHAF^ CUMBERLAND. 299 

Bring tender sympathy with tearful eye, 

Bring Hope, bring Health, and let the Muse attend. 

Stretch'd on her couch, beside the silent strand. 
Whose skirts old Ocean's briny billows lave, 
From the extremest verge of British land 
The languid fair-one eyes the refluent wave. 

Was ever suffering purity more meek, 
Was ever virgin martyr more resign'd ? 
Mark how the smile, yet gleaming on her cheekj 
Bespeaks her gentlest, best of human kind. 

Around her stand the sympathising friends. 
Whose charge it is her weary hours to cheer. 
Each female breast the struggling sigh distends, 
Whilst the brave veteran drops the secret tear. 

And he, whose sacred trust it is to guard 
The fairest freight, that ocean ever bore. 
He shall receive his loyalties reward 
In laurels won from Gallia's hostile shore. 

Now let thy wings their healing balm distill 
Celestial cherub, messenger of peace ! 
'Tis done ; the tortur'd nerve obeys thy will, 
And with thy touch its angry throbbings cease. 

Light as a sylph, I see the blooming maid 
Spring from her couch — Oh may my votive strain 
Confirm'd evince, that neither I have pray'd, 
Nor thou, my Muse, hast prophesied in vain." 

I have now cornpleted what (jc*-uiiLd to mc to - 
man, whose writings have been very various, '" 
have been always honest, and whose labou*- 
little intermission. I put the first pen ^ 
very close of the last year, and I co ,-^ 

of September. I had promised ,t'li .ad 

I was to proportion my disp?" ■,■.•. : .^e, up- 

on which without presum-' S "" ^Kon. As 

many of my read-^rs, a' . the weight of 

such a bulky load- •■'•' ' . me, even though 
I shall have su'^' orne it through with 
tolerable si'- to some of the many pa- 
ges, whi'-' .lope they will not mark with 
too s'-- .naccuracies 

j^as aut incur'ta fiid'ity 
parwn cavit natiira . 



'^00 MEMOIRS OF, Iffc. 

I have through life sincerely done my best according to my 
abilities for the edification of my fellow creatures and the hon- 
our of my God. I pretend to nothing, whereby to be com- 
mended or distinguished above others of my rate, save only for 
that good will and human kindness, which descended to me 
from my ancestors, and cannot properly deserve the name oi 
virtue, as they cost no struggle for the exertion of them. I am 
not exempt from anger, but I never let it fasten on me till it 
liarden into malice or revenge. I cannot pass myself off for bet- 
ter than I have been wiiere I am about to go, and if before my 
departure I were now to take credit for merits which I have notj 
the few, which I have, would be all too few to atone for the de- 
ceit ; but I am thoi-oughly weary of the task of talking of my- 
self, and it is with unfeigned joy I welcome the conclusion of 
my task and my talk. 

I have now only to devote this last page of my book (as it is 
probable I shall the last hour of my life) to the acknowledg- 
ments, which are due to that beloved daughter, who ever since 
the death of her mother has been my inseparable companion, 
and the solace of my age 

Extremum hunc, Arethiisa^ mlbi concede laborem. 

Frances Marianne, the youngest of my children, was born to 
me in Spain. After many long and dangerous returns of illness, 
it has pleased Providence to preserve to me the blessing of her 
life and health. In her filial affection I find all the comforts, 
that the best of friends can give me ; from her talents and un- 
derstanding I derive all the enjoyments, that the most pleasing 
of companions can communicate. As she has witnessed every 
step "in the progress of this laborious work, and cheered every 
l-our of relaxation whilst I have rested from it, if these pageb, 
' ••.!<>!< contain the Mernoirs o<-' her father's life, may happily ub- 
-,-,;^ ,:, ^ . noire from the world, by whomsoi^vci they are read, 
". ,<• _ ; testimony of my devotion to the best of daugh- 

:>ad ; and, if it be the will of God, that here 
.^ to cea-^e for ever, I can say to the world 
■ ; -s a dcaicatio/iy in which no flattery i; 
^.-,x,. . ''-ch fiction has no part, and an 

eftu.,. ,;ve, which flows sincerely from 

a fath.. r 

R.D CUMBERLAND 



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